Spanish Angel
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: As a sort of charity object of the elder brother's, Candela, a young maid in the de Chagny mansion, is dismissed as soon as Philippe is found dead by Erik's lake. After loosing the last coin that the new Comte gave her as a parting gift in memory of his brother, she stumbles upon the maze beneath the streets of Paris and the Phantom that haunts them. Leroux-based. E/OC. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_

 _Dear Readers,_

 _I have no idea where this book will go. No idea at all. So, bear with me as we both find out what it will turn into!_

 _sarahandmarquis_

 _This girl is based on my own temperament. She talks to herself, doesn't understand fear, and can be overwhelmingly optimistic (Whenever someone says, "There is a 90% chance of rain" I'm the one who says, "But, there's a 10% chance it won't!"). I'm sure most of you are going to be screaming "Mary Sue! Mary Sue!" and you're welcome to do that all you like but I'm going to have some fun with this book._

 **E-OC**

"I am very sorry, Mademoiselle, but now that my brother is gone, I'm afraid I have no other choice but to let you go." The Vicomte, now Comte, looked up from his ledgers at the maid, a young girl of eighteen, beautiful despite her poor station; dark eyed and black haired with a darker shade of skin, all of which spoke of her Spanish heritage almost more than her name.

She had been a sort of pet of his brother's. Attracting the attention and pity of the older de Chagny, who's patronage had been the only thing keeping her off the streets. He couldn't say she didn't work hard, for she truly did; often until her hands were bloodied. But, there was simply no space for her. She wasn't needed and the other servants didn't care for her odd ways. Tossing her a small bag of coins, he continued,

"My late brother would have wanted you to have something. Goodness knows what he saw in you." He glanced over her scant form, the black and white maid's garb not hiding any of her protruding bones. Phillipe, despite having pitied her situation on the streets, hadn't offered much more than a roof over her head and two meals a day so the girl hadn't ever truly blossomed.

Candela merely nodded, aware any arguing might take away the coins she had received.

"Yes, Comte de Chagny." She rose, curtsied and walked towards the door, not casting a glance back and fixing her gaze instead on the floor. That action nearly caused her to collide with the Comte's fiancé, a young singer by the name of Christine.

Hasty apologies were exchanged between the two women before Candela left, closing the study door behind her though not before she heard Señorita Daae, sobbing in the arms of the Comte over some dream she had had again. No doubt another nightmare about the Phantom of the Opera.

Candela surpassed the urge to roll her eyes. The Comte was a fine man who she couldn't despise despite having thrown her out of his house before his brother was quite cold in the grave and he deserved a finer wife than the sniveling girl who couldn't get angels and phantoms out of her head. Having been assigned her temporary maid before her dismissal, it had been Candela who was sent to fetch the Comte at ungodly hours of the night to calm her fears and chase away a nightmare.

"She may be sixteen but she doesn't have to act like a child." Candela muttered under her breath as she went to her small room and changed out of her black and white dress and laid them down on the bed before slipping on a plain, dove gray frock which hid much of her natural beauty, the stark color muting her dark skin and clashing horribly with her dark eyes.

"Talkin' about the future Comtesse, are we?" Asked a rather vulgar voice from the doorway. Candela didn't even deign to look at the drunkard behind her.

"Who else would I be talking about? Do we know any other blond children who are marrying my former master?" The man behind her staggered up and laid his hand on her waist, trying to pull her towards him. Shrugging him off, she grabbed her bag and tucked away the small purse of coins.

"Keep your paws off." She muttered before walking out of her room and down the hall to servant's exit. At times, she wondered why he wasn't dismissed from the mansion. That thought was quickly followed up with a mental image of his wife, the meanest fiend and the best cook the French side of the Channel. She earned the money and he drank it.

"Aw, not just a little feel?" He slurred as he followed her, too drunk to really do any serious damage. For five years she had withstood his drinking and groping habits and was quite accustomed with how to deal with them by now. Stopping at the door leading away, she turned to him.

"Not even a little. Need a woman? Go find your wife." She said, struggling not to laugh at the thought of snuggling up with that holly bush he was wed too. Perhaps that was the reason he sought warmth from other women.

Flicking her long hair over her shoulder, she strode from the mansion, leaving him, the Comte, and his childish bride long behind her.

Back to the streets for Candela de la Vaga.

 **E-OC**

"What will one franc buy me?" The odd Spanish girl asked herself as she flipped the coin around on her fingers and examined its every crevice for the umpteenth time in the past hour. The gold the Comte had been kind enough to give her had only lasted a few days and this final gold piece she had saved for the three days. Now, her rebellious stomach was refusing to forget its gnawing hunger while her mind couldn't recall her old tricks of pickpocketing.

"Not much. But, I shan't starve without something to my name." She answered her own question before tossing it up in the air and watching the sunlight strike it before catching out of the air. "Not a warm bed, not a meal, not a thing." Again, she tossed it into the air but this time, instead of her hand catching it, it knocked the coin aside and caused it be flung some distance away, into the small grove between the paving stones and rolling down it into a drainage grate. Fortunately for her, it stopped within reaching distance and if she was very careful, there would be little trouble getting to it. Despite knowing the money wouldn't buy her much of anything, Candela couldn't stand to see her last bit of golden hope disappear so, she went after the coin.

As it turned out, the piece of metal had a mind of its own and its owner was swearing in her native tongue before finally grasping the franc once more in her grubby hand. As she rose, far too quickly for having been prone against the sidewalk, she saw black spots, not unusual but as she did, she fell against the wall and fell inward as the wall gave way behind her, tumbling the hapless Spaniard into the darkness within.

Stunned for a moment from the fall, Candela couldn't rise quickly enough to stop the stone wall as it swung back in place, leaving her in complete darkness with no way of seeing where she was going. On top of that, she had lost her franc!

" _Maldito_ that franc." She muttered as she stood up, albeit shakily and began searching the wall for another hidden leaver or button to extricate herself from the predicament she found herself in. Failing miserably in her attempt and finally, out of a fit of pure frustration, she kicked the wall; only to come back limping and muttering something unrepeatable under her breath to herself and the wall.

"I can't find my way out, I've lost the only money I had in the world, and on top of it all, there's a damp draft!" The Spaniard threw her hands up. "Well, at least I won't become too hot." She reasoned as she shivered. The draft was coming from below her, the dank-smelling air proof of that. Well aware of the labyrinth beneath the Parisian streets, she cautioned herself that she would do well to remain where she was and wait for a passerby to help her.

"Not that anyone would. I have nothing to repay them that I would think of parting with." Sighing softly, her hand landed on a pocket hidden in her dress and it was them she remembered the small box of matches she always kept on her to light the candles in the Comte's mansion. She hadn't bothered to give them back, instead choosing to kept them with her.

Withdrawing the matchbox from her pocket, she struck one and looked around the small aura of light it provided to her. nothing but cold stone walls, damp and growing moss. Wrinkling her nose, she poked around the entrance, thinking that, if anyone used this for entering, then there had to be a lantern or something for them to see with.

"At least, I hope." She said as her eyes cast upon a dusty thing sitting in the corner. Lifting it up, she found it was still full of oil, if not old oil. It would burn and provide more light than nothing, she supposed as she lit it and held it up high so as to see more.

Once again, after examining the place where the door had been, she kicked the contrary stone and instead of cursing, promptly apologized to her foot for the injuries it must be going through.

"Madre always said I was a bit batty." Candela murmured as she assessed her situation. "Well, Madre," she said, now speaking to someone who wasn't even present at all and couldn't have possibly heard her words, "I am going to do something even more batty." Holding her lantern high like some banner, she abandoned the wall of stone and walked into the deep, dark maze beneath the Paris streets.

 **E-OC**

"Perhaps Madre was right." Candela spoke out into the darkness as she winded her way down whatever passage caught her fancy. Many feet below the surface now and hopelessly lost, the Spanish maid had no other choice but to keep going.

"If I don't kill myself anytime soon, I'll be in the catacombs." Even her brazen spirit couldn't handle the thought of piles of bones strewn here and there. Perhaps she should have even been scared of the tunnels but she wasn't. Keeping all negative thoughts from her head and lightly humming or singing some Spanish opera song or traditional ballad was keeping her quite happy.

"No one is around to hear my descent into madness and they are missing quite a show," She said once more to herself, finding herself was likely all the company she was going to find down here aside from the rats and she wasn't feeling quite that mad or lonely yet.

Suddenly, she stumbled a little as one of her shoe slipped on a damp stone. She had arrived at the bottom of the many stories of passages.

"A lake." She said, her voice echoing across the brackish water and reverberating against things far off in the darkness. Her lamp was growing quite low on oil but in its dying flame she saw a small wharf with little boated moored to an iron ring in the rotting wood. Quietly, she approached it and found the little boat to be quite sound, not a drop water within it.

"A underground lake. A boat." She looked again over the water and in her mind's eye formed the last piece of the puzzle. "A house on the shores of an underground lake." After spending a full week listening to Christine's nightly terrors and then usually hearing them recounted again when she wept into the Comte's fancy suits, Candela knew the whole story backwards and forwards. In addition to that intimate knowledge, the rumors were flying about Paris and she knew most of them.

"Death's head." She muttered as she began to untie the little boat and clamber into it, her hands quivering from nervous excitement.

"This is true madness. Seeking out a killer in his own lair." Candela picked up the pole and began to pole herself across the black water, unsure if she would even be able to find the place in the dark. The lamp was doing little good now.

"When I get there, he will either kill me on sight or he will turn me loose once more into the passages, or he will show me how to get out." She couldn't believe that the Opera Ghost was all bad which was why she include the final option. He had released Christine from his grasp though the girl seemed to forget that and continually think he was about to get her like some freakish boogeyman. The whole thing was quite a riot and Candela found herself chuckling as she continued her trip across the lake.

Then, just as her lamp died, gravel scarped the bottom of the boat and the small craft came to an ungraceful stop on the opposite shore. Stepping out, a little perturbed by the sudden halt, Candela lit another match and used its meager light to see around her.

Dead ahead was a wall.

"Señor Opera Ghost, I'm beginning to dislike your choices of doors." She spoke to empty air and walked towards it, pressing all over the stone and utterly astounded when a slab of the offending rock swung inward silently on hinges and showed her the most perfectly organized, if a little dusty, parlor.

For a moment embarrassed at the status of her shoes, Candela slipped them off, setting them by the door and tread, barefoot on the expensive carpets. While the room was smaller than the several parlors of the de Chagny mansion, it was as elegantly furnished if not better so as this had true taste.

"I will give you this, Señor, you know how to decorate. Persian rugs and silver candlesticks. Not to mention your baby grand." She remarked, brushing some of the dust from the instrument. After wandering around for a moment, she noted there was another door and upon passing through it found an exceptionally fine dining table with only two chairs on opposite ends of the table.

"Well, I suppose when one has no company, one doesn't need so many chairs littering up the space." With that in mind, she walked through another doorway, only to find herself standing in a hallway.

"One would think the Phantom of the Opera would have at least showed himself by now. I'm invading his home and he hasn't made a single peep. Can't he just appear and get it over with?" Scowling at absolutely nothing, she decided to open the first door she came to. That being the massive oak structure directly in front of the doorway to the dining room.

After lightly knocking and gaining no response, she turned the nob and pushed, the door gliding open without a sound.

The room was red.

The floors, the ceiling, the walls, everything was red. A massive black pipe organ stood against once wall and sitting upon the stand was a manuscript in red ink.

" _Don Juan Triumphant_." She read and even with her little skill in reading music Candela could see she had stumbled upon the masterpiece of a genius, incorporating both the flamenco and the tango, dances from her native country that she was quite familiar with.

"Passion. Sensuality. I must say, Señor, you have excellent tastes in music as well as design." The hot-blooded Spaniard had always loved the tango, the rush of dancing it, made her heart pound. Putting aside those thoughts for another time, she turned to the rest of the room, and, viewing with little or no surprise, a coffin partially concealed by red gauze curtains.

Coffins had been an integral part of Señorita Daae's nightmares, mostly including the phantom rising from them like some angel of death bent on haunting her. Honestly, the singer was haunting herself which was a fact Candela found more laughable than sad.

No phantoms, deformed or not, had been seen on the grounds of the mansion. They seemed to all reside inside the poor girl's addled brain.

"What sort of man could have that power?" She asked herself as she walked towards the coffin, incomprehensibly drawn towards the black object. The lid was mostly in place but appeared as if the placer hadn't been physically capable of situating it firmly into its assigned groves. Grunting, Candela managed to remove the lid and lay it aside. Casting her gaze back towards the interior of the coffin, she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth as she realized that the object was occupied.

A man lay inside the black wood, still and peaceful in his eternal sleep. Thin arms were laid out at his sides, the bony hands, cloaked in black gloves, limp in their last living positions. The most fashionable of suit cuts, no doubt tailored to fit the gaunt form of the corpse. And, last but not least, upon his face lay a white mask, covering every inch of his face with the exceptions of his mouth and chin.

"I have found you, Señor." She said as she knelt down beside the coffin, reaching in and lightly touching the black silk of the suit. No finer had she seen the nobles wear to their most high-class soirees. Having neared the cadaver, the faint stench of death wafted up towards her nose and she turned away slightly. He hadn't been dead longer than a few days. While the cold air might have preserved the body, the damp would have counteracted that preservation.

"What a pity." She said as she rose and was about to turn away when a movement caught her eyes. reaching down, she laid her hand over the Phantom's mouth.

One can only imagine her surprise when a faltering breath caressed her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, this is a bit of a short installment. But, as it is a transition piece, I thought it best not to get overly lengthy. But, here ya go! And, please let me know if it formats wrong again. I had that issue with the last chapter and I really appreciated it being brought to my attention.

sarahandmarquis

P.S. Be prepared for cliffhangers. I live to torture my readers. Feel free to vent your frustrations out in the reviews! (I read every one of them!)

 **E-OC**

"Day six." Candela said out loud as she wrote date and time down on a piece of paper. After being beneath the ground for so long, her mental clock was beginning to fail her quite horribly. With only the barest knowledge of it being dark or light outside, she managed to create for herself a calendar so she wouldn't completely lose track of time.

It had been six days since she had begun to care for the Opera Ghost.

After discovering the masked man was still living, Candela had decided she had three options. Two of which were the typical female reactions. Screaming and running away or fainting. As she had done neither of these on first instinct, she turned to her own way of doing things. Saving the man's life for instance.

With that decision in her mind, she had instantly gone about finding food, broth and water mostly, for him to drink. Something that even when unconscious, if fed in slow amounts, would provide nourishment to his gaunt body. In addition to food, she also examined every inch of skin, save for the more personal areas, for any sort of wound that would hinder his recovery but had found nothing more than a few cuts which were healing. But, what she had decided upon was his starvation wasn't accidental or the work of another.

It was a suicide attempt.

"Though, I suppose downing the complete contents of one's wine cellar would help to dull the hunger pain." She said her to herself as she removed her dress and slipped on her nightgown, a garment she had found in a chest of drawers in her room. Candela despised alcohol and had promptly thrown away the bottles, scrubbing any part of the house than even remotely reeked of the vintage to remove the offending smell.

"At least there isn't any left for him to drink." She muttered as she slid beneath the sheets of the four-poster bed and pulled them up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.

 **E-OC**

"Raoul, I have to go." Christine whispered very quietly as she huddled against her fiancé's side, fear radiating from every one of her twitching muscles. "But, I'm so scared." The blond youth lightly stroked her hair, desiring to take away her pain but unable to do so.

"You don't have to. A promise to one such him isn't overly binding." Raoul whispered as he kissed the top of her head, offering comfort in the one way he could. While they were quickly becoming the talk of the city, he felt helpless to stop the rumors which varied from close to the truth to outlandish.

"But, I promised! I won't go back on my word." Christine murmured, her voice not raising above a shuddering whisper. "Whenever that announcement appears in the paper, I have to go." She lightly fiddled with his coat buttons before trying to snuggled closer to him. "You must go with me! I won't survive seeing that place alone again!" Her pale fingers clutched at his lapels and her eyes widened, riddled with memories of what he could only imagine unspeakable horrors.

"Of course, I'll go with you, dear." Raoul quickly spoke up, his tone soothing as he covered her hands with his and squeezed them gently before massaging her shoulders with his one arm that was around her shoulders, loosening the muscles which had tightened.

"Don't call me that, Raoul! For your love of me, don't call me that. He called me that…that night." She shuddered in his arms and covered her pale, drawn face. Her blue eyes closed, reliving that night vividly.

"How do you remember such a small detail?" Raoul questioned, not understand her perfectly mental clarity of that night.

"I relive it every night. Every night, I relive every moment. How can I forget even a little of it?" Crystal tears fell down her cheeks and her fiancé gently wiped them away as he kissed the dried paths of those salt drop.

"He'll die soon, Little Lotte. You needn't fear him anymore." Christine mindlessly nodded, leaving him feeling as if she was merely agreeing with him because of exhaustion. The fingers of his left hand tightened as he fought against the boiling frustration which burned through him. That monster had let Christine go but never truly had released her. his hold was still as strong as it had ever been while she lived beneath the Opera House roof.

His plan had always been to move somewhere far away as soon as they were wed but now, the painful true was evident.

They would never be free of the Phantom.

 **E-OC**

Hands shaking violently, Erik gripped the edges of the coffin and hauled his gaunt body into the upright position, gasping for breath as the exertion drained him more than he was quite willing to admit. The foul taste of un-swallowed food remained in his mouth and his roaming golden eyes caught sight of a glass of water, the contents of which were quickly downed.

"Maudire." He muttered as he struggled to pull himself out of the coffin and as he drew himself upright, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Muscles burned and shook from inactivity for an unknown amount of time. Steadying himself against the walls, he made his way out of his room and through the dining room to the kitchen beyond. Raw pain radiated from his chest, the blinding pain not allowing him any coherent thoughts except for the basic will to live.

Peeling off the mask, he splashed cold water against the sweaty skin, clearing his head. As he leaned over the sink, it all came rushing back.

"Christine. Gone." He gasped out the words and nearly dissolved into mad fit on the floor of his kitchen. His heart screamed in agony and Erik wondered if he had looked downward, if blood would be dripping from an open wound. His eyes closed involuntarily and he whimpered echoing the words which stomped on his already mangled heart,

"Christine. Gone." Insensible of anything except his loss, he clung to the edge of counter, swaying unceremoniously. "Christine. Gone." The words boomed off the enclosing walls of the kitchen as his muscles completely gave way and, crashing to the floor, he lost consciousness once more.

 **E-OC**

It was several hours later when the Opera Ghost regained his senses and dragged himself to his feet. Before his mind could again lapse into his memories of the past and crying Christine's name, his keen eyes recognized there was a change in his kitchen since before his long sleep in his coffin.

Wine bottles, once spread around the kitchen were absent; the floor had been polished so it shown; and the general mess he had left it in, had been tidied. The whole room spoke of a woman's gentle touch. Hope rose up in the battered heart of the Phantom. Only one woman knew how to access his room.

"Christine!" He whispered as he bolted towards his living room, only to find that room had also been cleaned and neatened by a woman. His parlor had never sparkled like it did now. Adrenaline pumping through his veins and hope driving his muscles far beyond their ordinary capacity, Erik arrived at the door to Christine's old bedroom. His hands trembled, partially from fear yet mostly from excitement.

His bony hands gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it, not wishing to make a single sound for fear of waking his, hopefully, sleeping angel. as his eyes scanned the room, they landed on the four-poster bed and the occupant within it.

It wasn't Christine.

 **E-OC**

 _"Madre." Candela asked as she knelt beside the bed her dying mother. "Madre, can I help you? A glass of water, perhaps?" She inquired of the limp form. There was silence for a moment before a whisper passed her parches lips._

 _"Yes, please." Quietly, Candela picked up the glass and propped up her mother's frail body, assisting her to drink a sip of water._

 _"Here, Madre." As soon as her mother tried to swallow, she coughed violently and her daughter covered her mouth with a handkerchief, bringing it back bloody. Her mother's tired eyes fluttered close before snapping open as she reached up, grasping at Candela's hand._

 _"Dela, D-del-" The young girl quickly hushed her mother as she laid her down against the pillows._

 _"Hush, Madre. Don't speak. Rest." The gray-haired woman shook her head and weakly squeezed her daughter's hand._

 _"Dela, I'm…I'm dying." She whispered, stating what both of them knew was a fact. "When…when I am dead-" She gasped for breath and coughed again before Candela could catch her, spit blood onto the white pillow cases. "Go to France. Your father-" She heaved, gasping for breath, desperate to say one last thing but seeming to realize it was quite futile._

 _"I love you." She breathed before her head rolled to the side and her hand fell limp in the strong grip of her daughter. Nurses and doctors entered the room quickly, a mere blur by the grieving girl. Hands grabbed her and began to pull her away the dead body of her mother. Candela tried to scream but couldn't as her whole world dissolved into blackness._

Her eyes snapped open, the dream a vivid memory from six years previous, only to find her hands were confined by one cold bony hand and the other was covering her mouth, the scent of death and feeling of cool sending shivers down her spine as she tried to twist to see her assailant. It was then, a musical voice demanded,

"Who dares disturb the Opera Ghost?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"Candela de la Vaga." The former maid answered back, relaxing despite the knee that was in the small of her back, the hand that icily gripped her wrists, and the hand that covered her mouth, almost keeping her from being able to speak. "Now, please be so kind as to release me. This is no way to treat your nurse. This is most ungentlemanly." She made it a point to sound most upset with him while not tensing even a bit when he pressed harder into her back, ending all movement she might have attempted. While Señorita Daae had been completely terrified of him, the child had seemed to believe he was a gentleman at all times. But, this restraining a girl upon her bed was hardly the work of a gentleman.

"So, you're the one to which I owe this unwanted life I now have?" He snarled into her ear, the faint smell of death hanging about him. The girl was absolutely infuriating. The only struggle she had put up was upon waking but as soon as her senses were gathered, she was as limp as a rag doll beneath him, and, on top of it all, talking back to him like a bantam, demanding that he free her. For decades he had relied on the power he held to frighten, cajole, or shock anyone into obedience. This ugly girl was completely stripping him of that power.

"Yes, I am. If you'll let me go, I'll explain." And, for the first time since their conversation, she yanked on her hands, only to find he held them all the tighter. "You know I was under the impression you were a gentleman. 'A gentleman who dresses in fancy evening suits and haunts an opera house' I was told. Honestly, you're a disappointment." For a moment, she almost managed to turn her to head to face her captor, but at the last moment he forced it back so she was once more staring at her pillow.

"Violent too." She muttered to herself. "And, all this after I spent nearly a week nursing you back to health even if you did want to kill yourself. Suicide is the coward's way out, after all." Candela rattled on as if oblivious to her current uncomfortable position.

"I am not a coward." The Opera Ghost retorted, restraining her tightly enough to begin causing minor pain. Candela shrugged and her sarcastic mind quickly formed a verbal way out of the physical restrains she was in.

"If the mighty Opera Ghost isn't a coward, explain why he's imprisoning a girl half his size and strength as if she was a threat?" There was silence for a moment before the body over top her vanished and, turning over on her back, she saw the austere Phantom now residing at the foot of her bed. In his death's sleep in his coffin, he had cut an imposing figure, yet, now as he stood, straight and tall albeit trembling a little from his resent malnutrition, Candela could understand easily how he would strike fear into the most tenacious of hearts. Oddly enough, she felt herself unmoved by his persona and sat up, holding the blanket against her chest for modesty sake.

"Now, we may speak as civilized human beings. In answer to your question, I fell through your doorway into this subterranean burrow and became lost in the maze, stumbled upon your lake and boat, and found my way over here." Deciding it wouldn't be too wise of a decision to mention her original intents to him, she paused for a moment. "I found you in your coffin and saved your life. By the way, you will need to restock your larder soon." Candela pointed out. "Three healthy meals a day for two people will drain one's food stores very quickly."

The Opera Ghost merely watched her, not belaying any emotion in his eyes or stance. The maid rolled her eyes and grabbed the gilded pocket watch sitting on the bedside table. Squinting, she read the time.

"Three o'clock in the morning." She grumbled as she threw back the blankets and stood up, choosing to ignore the impropriety of their situation with her dressed only a nightgown. "I don't relish being woken up at time of night but since I am, I might as well get to work. There is laundry and meal preparations to begin." Scooping up her dress, she walked behind the dressing screen and, after slipping off the silk nightgown, tugged the dress over her body and walked back out while still buttoning the last button on the back. As she strode to the door, she glanced back at the Phantom who was staring at her as if she was strange sort of bug.

"Breakfast will be ready at seven." She said over her shoulder before leaving the room and leaving Erik to his own thoughts.

"My house has been invaded by a mad woman." He whispered to himself as he followed her out the door but instead of going all the way to the kitchen with her, he returned to his bedroom, making sure the lock the door behind him and began to think as to what to do with girl.

"She is quite mad."

 **E-OC**

As soon as the music began echoing from the bedroom, Candela sighed and began to sort through the laundry. There wasn't much of it. merely some unmentionables of hers and then a few clothes and rags. One of the luxuries she had grown to adore was the fresh, running water the house was equipped with. Even the Comte's house didn't have such amenities.

"And, they think they're so much better than him simply because they have a fancy titles and a mansion." She muttered to herself as she began to scrub the first item against the washboard. More often than not, Candela had heard Señorita Daae call the Phantom "a monster" but, she concluded inside herself that monster's didn't have parlors, dining rooms, or nice kitchens with the latest in culinary delights, especially considering he never entertained.

There was no logical reason for him to keep up the air of a proper gentleman.

"No, I don't believe he really is a monster." Candela said out loud, blocking out the violent organ music echoing through the house. "Some of us are just more eccentric than others for one reason for another. It is not for one mad person to judge another equally as mad."

After that conclusion, Candela fell silent, content to wash, scrub, and hang up the cleaned clothing inside the mirror torture chamber, a place she had found perfect for the drying of clothing. It was naturally hot in there when the lights were on so the clothes dried quickly and effectively despite the damp hole she was currently living in.

As she began to fix breakfast, the tune being played on the organ changed and she listened for a moment before beginning to softly sing a favorite Spanish song of hers.

After a deep moment between her and the music, it ceased but it felt as if it lingered in the air, not willing to depart, reverberating in her ears and leaving her winded. Never had she sang so passionately in her life and enjoyed it quite so much. Glancing about her, she laughed to herself.

"I suppose singing to oneself is better than talking to oneself." She said as she shook herself and scooped the pieces of ham and fried eggs off the small stove into a bowl.

"Breakfast." She said with a smile as she closed her eyes breathed deep of the savory smell. "I wish I had some biscuits but one mustn't be picky." After setting the bowl down on the table, she set it for two and pulled the whistling tea kettle off the stove. After filling the two cups, she spooned several servings of sugar into her cup and left the Phantom's alone. He didn't seem to be the sort to enjoy lots of sugar.

When the place was set perfectly, she walked to his bedroom and was about to knock when she saw a note at her feet, having been slipped under the door for her to find. Knitting her black eyebrows, she picked it up and read it,

 _Dear Mademoiselle;_

 _Enclosed are directions for your departure. Do so immediately._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _O.G._ "

Candela de la Vega wasn't known for spending much time thinking over things; a trait that often led her into some sticky situations. The contents of this letter were no different. A rebellious smirk on her face, she drew herself to her full height and tucked the instructions away in her bosom.

"No, I think not."

 **E-OC**

Erik had been listening at the door when the little Spanish maid made her declaration and he had half a mind to forcibly remove her or even kill her.

"You would be even more of a monster." He whispered to himself as he slinked away from the door and back to his organ, the well-worn keys responded willingly to his touch. For a while, he played, trying to bury his pain deep in the music of his _Don Juan Triumphant_ , not caring if it damaged the girl in the kitchen. But, his music failed him.

Gazing down, helplessly, at the skeletal hands glaring back at him he gasped, trying not to break, trying not to cry.

"You deserve to live in this pain. You deserve to live. Dying is mercy. You deserve to live with the knowledge of all the ruin you've caused." He balled his hands until blood oozed from his cut palms.

"You don't deserve mercy."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next several months passed in a very odd fashion. Candela rose, sometime about seven, went about the daily chores, cleaning and cooking, sometimes spent time reading when there was nothing else to do but never once would see she a single hint of the man she was sharing the house with. The only reason she knew he still existed was the music that flowed through the home continually, sometimes wild, sometimes painful, sometimes grieving.

Once a week, the maid would make her way through the tunnels and to the surface where she would buy everything they needed. She had found a small cache of money hidden away in the Louis Phillipe room, but, once the Phantom had decided she wasn't likely to leave, he had taken to leaving a small amount of money for her each week for groceries as well as the occasional list of items he needed or desired.

Usually, she was instructed to keep the money she didn't spend and it became her salary. Without a single word of agreement or a contract between them, she was being his servant to the man who never once showed his face. Their relationship was a genial one with the mutual understanding that she could leave whenever she desired.

Not that she ever did.

A good thing had finally come the way of the orphan woman and she was content. Three square meals a day, room and board, and lack of want were all blessing to Candela and though at times she missed the company of others, she had found a way to handle it. Usually on her "town day" she would spend the whole afternoon in the city, enjoying the company of other human beings. With some of her extra earnings she had bought herself a nice dress so, whenever she did emerge from the depths, there was an aura of respect spread around her. The regularity of her visits soon caused the old shop owners, most old enough to be her grandfather, to extend a certain affection towards her, sometimes slipping a little extra into her order and not charging.

Her little tale of woe charmed their hearts as she claimed to be the child bride of an older gentleman who never set foot past his stoop and was rather surly tempered. They all commiserated with her and were happy to make her life easy where they could, a favor she returned by bringing little things for their wives or grandchildren. Sometimes, all she had to offer was a smile.

Yes, Candela de la Vega was happy, at last, and determined not to ruin it.

 **E-OC**

"Christine, perhaps you should get out a bit, for some fresh air? This staying cooped up isn't healthy." Raoul said as he lightly squeezed his wife's shoulders, feeling the bones beneath the skin. His wife was wasting away. At last, several weeks previous, they had been married but she still refused to leave Paris, terrified she might break her promise to the monster. Yet, no message had yet to come through the paper and it had been several months since their last encounter.

She was deathly white from lack of sunshine, preferring to stay indoors and not wishing to be seen by anyone. Her blue eyes were haunted and empty. Her blond hair was dull and had long lost its luster. Their marriage had been consummated but no more. He couldn't risk giving her a child while she was in this weakened state. It would kill her.

Even before their wedding day, he had ceased to hate the Phantom. In truth, he had come to understand, to a small degree, the pain the ghost must have gone through. His cry for a living bride often passed through Raoul's own lips as he gazed at his corpse bride. She was nothing more than a shell. Nightmares haunted her every sleeping moment and memories her every waking.

"Please, Little Lotte, you must have some fresh air. It will be winter soon and you won't be able to go out." He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and lightly kissed her cheek. The girl barely acknowledged him. "I am going to send for the carriage. We shall drive to a nice park and you shall have some exercise. Something to refresh you." He lightly kissed her lips and departed, calling for a servant to send for the carriage.

It was time his wife stopped this fearful seclusion.

 **E-OC**

Candela switched her basket from one arm to another and then fanned herself with a silk fan before taking a seat on a park bench. While winter was drawing near, it was still warm in her dress and there was no hansom to be found in the area surrounding her.

As she closed her eyes to catch her breath and take a short rest, a voice called out to her and, from underneath her hat, she saw a pair approaching her. the voice which had called her name was familiar and, rising, she saw the Comte de Chagny and his new bride walking towards her. The Comte looked older than his twenty-one years and the pale girl beside him far more frail than she should have.

It seemed neither of them had faired any better since her departure.

"Comte and Comtesse de Chagny." Candela dropped a brief curtsy, bobbing her head in respect for her superiors. No matter how nice her dress was or the act she put on for everyone else, the Comte knew she was nothing more than a maid.

"Candela! Fancy meeting you here." It surprised her that he even remembered her face, let alone her name. Several months had passed since he let her go and he had his wife to fret over.

"Fancy that. Are you and your lady well?" She inquired, politely, though Raoul saw through her façade. The Spaniard was not so daft as to not see how unwell the pair of them were. his surprise was in the manner of dress and bearing of his former maid. Her shoulders were straight and her gown elegant, fitting of a middle to upper class woman. Not a mere servant girl. Something had happened to her in the past few months to change her.

"Well enough." He answered, giving the expected reply and turning to Christine only to see her as listless as ever. "How have you been?" He discretely gestured to her change of dress, and it passed through his mind, her change of future might not have been for the best.

"I was fortunate that I soon found another position after leaving your employ. I am now the sole servant for an eccentric elderly gentleman. His house is small and his needs few but he pays very well." From the looks the Comte was giving her, Candela knew he believed her to be someone's mistress or private lady. By using the term elderly, she effectively put notion to rest. The Phantom was hardly elderly, but there was no need for them to know she wasn't being completely truthful.

"I'm pleased to hear you've found a position." Raoul said as he once more glanced at his bride, noticing she was wearing out quickly and it was time to be heading home. "Have a good day, Candela." He said before turning around and leaving the Spaniard alone, watching their silhouettes moving away.

"How does he still have such a hold over her feeble mind?" Candela asked herself before picking up her basket and turning her way homeward. The fate of the new Comtesse de Chagny was not her concern.

 **E-OC**

"Master, should we not have heard from Master Erik by now?" Darius asked as he stood beside his master's chair in his study. "It's been three months. Didn't he say it would be soon?" The Persian servant had been loyal to his master since he was quite young and never once had his loyalty wavered. But, there was a certain affinity both he and his master felt towards the strange, masked gentleman.

"Erik is an unpredictable man. Maybe he didn't die as he claimed he was going to." Nadir half-heartedly sorted through the few articles of correspondence he received. It had been on his mind lately. At times he wondered if he should just go down there and check on his friend. If he was dead, the least they could do was bury him. If he was alive, well, he would simply have to run the risks that went along with meeting Erik.

"Would it be right to see if he is alive or dead?" His servant asked and Nadir nodded slowly.

"It would be right. And, I believe I'll go now. There is still enough time before dark sets in completely. I may be late for supper though." The older Persian stood up and reached for his suede jacket, slipping it on with the help of Darius.

"Be careful, Master. Would you like me accompany you?"

"No, that won't be necessary. If I'm not back by midnight, come after me." Nadir gave his servant a tight smile and walked out of the small apartment they shared. The streets weren't heavily populated in his modest part of the city. No one really noticed the odd Persian gentleman strolling down the streets, his eyes set on the Opera House some distance in front of him.

 **E-OC**

"Let's see, beef, bacon, red wine…" She trailed off as she looked over the recipe for Bœuf bourguignon, a common French dish she had learned while living as a kitchen maid at the de Chagny mansion. Singing softly to herself, she began to gather the needed ingredients, listening to the music once more flowing from the locked bedroom.

Just before she turned on the oven, her ears caught the sound of someone opening the door into the parlor. Heart leaping into her throat, she turned away from the stove and grabbed a heavy butcher knife, making her way through the dining room and to the doorway. Peaking around the doorframe, she gasped as she saw an older Persian gentleman, looking around the parlor. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into view, the butcher knife on the ready.

"Sir, if you would please stand perfectly still and announce your intentions." Nadir froze stiff at the sound of a woman's voice. Confused and shocked, he slowly turned, hands raised, and stared at the dark-skinned girl in the doorway, armed with a butcher knife.

"Please, Mademoiselle, I mean you harm." He managed to say without stuttering. "I am a friend of Erik's. I came to see how Erik was doing." Nadir continued, smiling gently at her.

Candela lowered the butcher knife into a more relaxed position at her side as she began to believe the older gentleman. His face was kind and unthreatening.

"I haven't spoken to the Phantom since my seventh day here." The maid replied before turning and walking back towards the kitchen, not wanting to leave her meal behind and figuring the Opera Ghost could handle the intruder on his own. To her surprise, the Persian gentleman followed her, that confused look still plastered on his face.

"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but may I inquire as to who you are and why you're here?" He took his place in the doorway and watched as the dark-haired girl worked on the evening meal.

"My name is Candela de la Vega and I am the maid, housekeeper, and cook." She said, turning to face him, a pleasant smile covering her face. Friend or foe, she liked the man's manners and he seemed quite polite, much more than his friend. "I have been for the past several months since I stumbled upon the Rue Scribe entrance."

The more she told, the more puzzled the Persian became. To his eyes, she seemed happy and content five cellars under the earth, had been for several months, with an unsociable ex-assassin. _Perhaps she is as mad as Erik_? With that thought, Nadir wondered if it was truly safe for him down here, visiting a man who surely hated him for his betrayal and a girl who despite her obvious sweetness wasn't all right in the head.

"I…I will go speak with Erik now."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Who is this girl?" Nadir demanded of the shadow plinking away at the keys of the organ and testing the tonal quality of some of the higher and lower keys.

"I know as much as you, Daroga." The musical voice responded, laced with no emotion, not even the hatred that the Persian had expected from the cold Opera Ghost. His voice was empty and his form bent. He was alive but hardly living.

"I would think you would have drilled her to know about her." The form scoffed and turned to face him, the white mask gleaming in the light of the lone candle and those golden eyes shimmering from their sunken holes.

"You are the detective, not I." Erik replied, cracking his knuckles. At one point, he might have murdered Nadir for his treachery but now, he was completely cut off from feelings, not having the energy to spill the blood of the Persian man.

"But, it's not like you to allow strangers into your home." Nadir pointed out as he watched the shadow-shrouded man.

"I can hardly call her a stranger now, can I? She is now in my service as my only servant. I really don't care to see any more of her. I might chase her away." The biting sarcasm, tinted with truth, was very like Erik's personality.

"I highly doubt it. The girl seems as mad as you." The ex-police chief just shook his head, unsure what to think of someone who was with Erik, willingly. While he had tried not to give up hope that Erik would find someone to share his life and genius with, he had, admittedly, given up with the departure of Christine. Now, to find someone was quite a shock to the senses of the elderly gentleman.

"I believe she is. She talks to herself a lot." Erik ran a gaunt hand through his thinning hair and was truly baffled at the girl's behavior. She was completely oblivious, but on occasion, he would slip out of his hideaway and spy on her, observing her. The oddities of the girl perplexed his genius mind.

"Not surprising considering she's down here as good as by herself." Nadir retorted before going to the door. "I for one am going to find out something more about her." With that, he left, hearing a final comment from his masked friend following him,

"Ever the police chief, Daroga."

 **E-OC**

"I hope I am not being too rude, Mademoiselle, but may I be so bold as to inquire about your past? I'm very curious to know how someone could come to live down here with Erik." Candela finished setting the table and dished out food to the both of them before responding.

"I stumbled upon this place by complete accident." She began as she poured tea for them then sat down opposite him. "I have been, since the age of thirteen, an orphan. My mother died of consumption and I have never met my father, neither do I even know his name. All I knew was he was French and I came to France in hopes of finding him, not that I even knew where to look.

"For a short time, I was employed at a tavern before the place burned to the ground, leaving me homeless again. The owner had his own family to look after and didn't have time for me. I journeyed to Paris and was, after being on the streets for a while, picked up by the Comte Phillippe de Chagny as a charity project."

This was an unexpected turn in her story for Nadir. The tale of a wood's colt orphan wasn't uncommon but her relationship with the de Chagny household was a bit of a surprise.

"I was as kitchen maid until the death of the Comte and the elevation of his younger brother into his position. For a brief week, I was the personal maid of the former Mademoiselle Daae before being dismissed as an unneeded accessory to the mansion."

"You were her personal maid? Then, you know the detail of the whole debacle." Again, he questioned the girl's sanity. Surely there was a little loyalty towards the family that had taken her in when she had been hungry, therefore biasing her against Erik to begin with. Then, after being in close proximity to Christine, surely, that would cause anyone to fear ever coming near the Paris Opera House.

"Yes, and all from a woman who has the courage of a shrew." Candela stated, causing Nadir to unintentionally snort some of his meal, only to try to cover it up with a cough. "While the Comtesse de Chagny is a sweet girl, I wouldn't wish to spend any time with her. I pity the Comte for marrying her. She is a weak-willed, weak-boned wife." To that, Nadir merely shrugged.

"It is not for us to judge whether or not his decisions were wise. He may yet pay the price if they prove foolish. He chose his bride, now he must live with her." The maid nodded in agreement almost sadly.

"The Comte always seemed like a nice young man. When I first came to the mansion, the elder de Chagny agreed that I would tutor the then Vicomte in Spanish and he would tutor me in French. That lasted no more than a year when I proved unable to teach him anything." The pair of them laughed, knowing it was more due to the Comte's lack of mental talent than to anything the maid had failed to do.

"This all still doesn't explain how you came here." The ever-curious Persian detective said, directing the conversation back to the origin of his inquiries. The girl merely smiled and took a bite of her meal before saying,

"When I was dismissed from my job, the Comte gave me a small purse a gold. Three days later, I had one left and dropped it into the gutter. Well, one thing led to another, and I found my way through the secret door on the Rue Scribe side. After finding the lantern, I wandered through the tunnels until I stumbled upon the lake. I don't really know fear and I think the darkness was effecting my judgement, so I polled myself across and found Erik, dying in his coffin from lack of food.

"I nursed him back to life and he then barricaded himself into his room, our only communication being through notes. After a couple of weeks, I assumed the position I hold now and we've been content." Candela finished her tale and her meal at the same time. rising her to feet, she gathered the dishes and carried them over to the sink for washing later.

"Did you ever see beneath the mask?" Nadir asked. The Spaniard turned to face him and violently shook her head to the negative.

"Never! I would never dream of taking away his sense of security. I may a be a curious person and definitely mad but I am not heartless nor am I a Comtesse de Chagny. To rip away his mask without his allowing it would be the greatest cruelty to him." In her dark eyes and mien there was written offense and he instantly apologized profusely for his error. The maid was correct in her personal assessment. She was nothing like Christine. She was hardly the trembling violet who wilted if someone scowled at her. Erik's maid was the sort to greet intruders with a butcher knife and demand of them their reasons for being in her home. The thought brought a smile to his wrinkled face.

"Apology accepted." Candela replied, refilling both their tea cups before sitting back down. "Now, you know my story and how I got here. May I ask you yours?" She inquired, plotting two lumps of sugar into her tea and looked up at Nadir through long dark eyelashes. The old man mirthlessly chuckled.

"My story isn't one for the ears of ladies." He replied before being contradicted by the lady across from him.

"Nonsense. If necessary, give me the shortened version but I want to know how you met the allusive Opera Ghost and then came to live here. I assume you haven't lived here your whole life?"

"Even the shortened tale is quite long and you are quite correct." The man warned. Candela rose to her feet and fetched a tea tray, arranging their tea cups, tea pot, and sugar bowl thereon.

"We'll move into the parlor where we'll be more comfortable. Nothing like a cup of tea and a warm fire to assist in storytelling." She lifted the heavy tray, ignoring his offers of assistance and led them into the parlor. In a matter of a few minutes they were both quite comfortable in their chosen chairs. Candela, cuddled up in a blanket with her cup of tea in both hands and Nadir, sitting rather stiffly on the couch before the tea tray.

"I suppose I should begin at the beginning. In 1850, I was the Daroga of Mazanderan Court, well known and well-respected. As the sole parent to my young, son, I was a busy man. Much to my dismay, I was sent to Russia, far away from my ailing boy, to find a…" Nadir trailed off for a moment, "for lack of a better term, a freak. The Shah had heard of his talents and longed to bring him to court as a novelty, an amusement. I was the messenger he sent.

"It was in Russia, I made the acquaintance of Erik. He had been running his solo freak show act. I shan't go into details. That is for him to tell whenever he sees fit. Despite his original dislike of the notion, money quickly changed his mind and he came with me, drawn by power, wealth and his own curiosity." The old man fell silent as he stared at the rich carpets, still attesting to his friend's appreciation of the Persian style. An oriental air still clung to him, even after all these years.

"He stayed there for three years. Again, I won't go into details. He will tell you himself of the 'Rosy Hours of Mazanderan' as he sarcastically termed them. Suffice it to say, the Shah and his mother grew tired of him, deciding he knew too much. At first, the Shah only wished to put his eyes out but, then he determined to kill him. I slipped him out and paid for it with several years in prison. I was very fortunate not to pay with my head." He sighed and leaned forward, picking up his cup and taking a small sip.

Glancing upward, he saw the Spaniard's gaze was riveted onto him. a small smile creased his face as he set the cup down and continued,

"When I was released, I had nothing left. Having been convicted of possible treason to the Shah, I fled the country, coming to France in hopes of finding Erik. I did stumble upon him one day and we've kept in modest contact while I've lived here. I made a living as a detective and a spice trader on the side. Sufficient for me and my servant's few wants and needs." As he finished speaking, the clock chimed eleven and he rose to his feet.

"I must be getting home. It's getting quite late. Thank you very much for the meal and the pleasure of your company, Mademoiselle Candela." The maid rose and dropped a polite curtsy before going to fetch his coat.

"You'll have to drop by again sometime. It's nice having company." She said as the Persian shrugged on the coat and moved to the front door. Stopping, he turned to face her and again smiled kindly.

"I shall visit again soon. Here is my card. My address is on it if you ever need anything." With a parting bow, the old man disappeared into the darkness outside the front door of the small house. Smiling to herself and tucking the card away for future reference, Candela gathered up the tea things and walked back into the kitchen, only to be startled when a voice spoke from the table,

"Did you have an enjoyable evening with the prying Persian?" Candela squeaked and nearly dropped the tea tray. The presence of the elusive phantom was in her, formerly his, kitchen surprised her. in the several month span since their last meeting, she had forgotten how tall and imposing his build was and she felt quite small beneath his piercing golden gaze.

"Yes, I enjoyed it very much. Monsieur Khan's conversation was quite enlightening and pleasant. You would do well to partake of a little more of it than you do." Erik grimaced beneath the mask as the brazen Spaniard blatantly insulted him.

"I have heard enough lectures for him to serve me for two lifetimes." Candela didn't hesitate a moment before she quipped,

"Perhaps you should store up for your third." It was a good thing she had already set the tea set down because the empty bark of laughter from behind the full-faced quite mask shocked her. It was the truly the last thing she had expected from the solemn ghost. What was worse, perhaps, was the lack of heart and soul behind the sound.

"You are more skittish than I first believed." The Ghost replied to with the colorful girl snapped,

"You are more annoying that I first believed." The reply hushed the cold phantom, leaving him leaving him to think of the full correctness of the Daroga's statements. Candela, seeing she had silenced the cold man, went about pouring him a cup of tea, Russian without sugar as was his preferred kind.

As she set the cup before him, he glanced at her before looking at the tea then back at her. Several moments passed before he broke her gaze and, gracefully picked up the tea and took a sip. Determining it was suitable for drinking, he took another sip and Candela smiled before pouring herself a fifth cup for the evening and sitting down opposite him, a smirk painted over her face she thought of the tales she would have to tell when she was old and gray.

Especially about the time she had tea with the Phantom of the Opera.


	6. Chapter 6

"Both Phillippe and I warned you not to marry that girl in the first place." A middle-aged man said as he pointed at Raoul with hand and cradled a glass of sherry with his other. "We told you she wasn't going to turn out well. Too many ghosts involved." The man muttered, swishing the liquid in his glass.

"She'll get better!" Raoul insisted to his late brother's friend, Nicolas Jules, the Marquis de Bonnaire. "Jules, I know she will!" The Marquis's father and Raoul's own father had been quite close and so, naturally, their eldest sons grew close as well. Jules had, to some degree, helped Phillippe raise his much younger brother and now with his friends demise, he had determined to guide his young friend into a path safe for his feet to tread. The Marquis himself was familiar with the curses of marrying a weak-willed wife but, had been freed of her when she had abandoned him for another man. Never once did he resent the other gentleman's misfortune in brides.

"How do you know? She is a fragile creature and it seems the stress of the last several months has taken its ultimate toll on her body. She's dying, Raoul." Silence ensued in the room as the word that none wanted to think of was spoken aloud. Tears formed in the Comte's eyes as he turned away from his friend and hung his head.

"And…if she dies…I'm afraid I'll die with her."

"Oh, cease these melodramatics!" Exclaimed Jules as he set down his sherry glass and walked over to his friend. "Those operas you listen to have gotten into your brain. You will do no such thing. You will survive even if she doesn't." Clapping the young de Chagny on the back, Jules walked past him to the door.

"But, if I were you, I'd start looking beyond those doctors and nurses that seem to know nothing. Surely you know someone who can help?" With that question hanging in the air, the older man left, showing himself out of the mansion.

Raoul kept silent for a few moments before whispering,

"I do know someone."

 **E-OC**

"Monsieur, I'm leaving for town. Is there anything you need?" Candela asked as she knocked lightly on the door leading into the Opera Ghost's scarlet chambers. A shuffle of papers greeted her ears and she knocked once more, aware the preoccupied man probably hadn't heard her.

"What do you want?" A frustrated voice hollered from within and she smiled quietly to herself before re-asking her question and the reply coming back as a negative. A lightness in her step, she grabbed her basket and pocketed some coins before heading out the door and untying the small boat moored there.

"Off to town I go then." Hopping lightly into the boat, she pushed herself away from the dock and propelled herself through the dark waters she had learned easily within the first month. Frightening as they might have seemed to some normal human being, she, the mad girl, found them quite appealing.

"Garish light of day." She sang softly to herself, remembering a song she had found one day while cleaning the Phantom's small house. "I have to agree with you there, Monsieur Phantom. Light is quite bright and overrated."

Without another worthwhile thought or word, she made her away up to the surface.

 **E-OC**

"I must be going quite mad, Little Lotte. I'm considering asking for the help of a madman. A madman who hates me. But, he loves you. Jules said to find someone who could help you." Raoul whispered to the listless woman lying on the bed, her eyes closed in a drug-induced sleep. Two weeks previous, she had completely collapsed and in a desperate attempt to save her life, the doctor had prescribed heavy sedatives while her body calmed itself and returned to equilibrium. It was all they could do for the Comtesse.

"I love you, Christine. Remember that. I'm gambling my life in the hopes it might save yours. If I fail…" He trailed off as he stood up and grabbed a heavy overcoat, draping it over his arm. "I won't fail." He said firmly as he strode to the doorway and called for the maid to watch her mistress.

"I can't fail."

The wind was icy cold as the Comte stepped out of his door and too the few short strides to his waiting carriage. Subconsciously, he pulled his overcoat closer about him but his mind didn't acknowledge the temperature, his whole being haunted by the blank looks in Christine's eyes.

As the carriage clattered its way through the Parisian streets, Raoul went over every moment of the horrible night which he would never forget. He didn't think he had forgotten the path shown to him by the Persian. He suspected he could still find his way back to that boiling hell of a place. Perhaps though, the creature wouldn't be so violent this time, perhaps his temper wouldn't be aroused.

"Perhaps he will help his love." When the Phantom had released them, Raoul knew his love for Christine was great. It was a self-less love that allowed him to let her go. No obsession crazed monster would have released them. No, the creature had a heart and Raoul would go to his lair and appeal to that side.

Appeal for the sake of his love.

 **E-OC**

"Oh! Forgive me! I didn't see you there!" The marquis exclaimed as he accidently jostled the shoulder of a dark-haired woman causing her to drop her parcels. "Here." He stooped down and helped her gather them before glancing into her eyes and pausing a moment to admire her dark eyes paired with her tan skin.

"Think nothing of it, Monsieur." The girl said, taking the parcel from him and tucking it back under her arm. After a quick assessment of her clothing, he assumed her to be middle-class lady, her bearing holding up to this assumption. As he was about to take his leave of the woman, his eyes locked momentarily with hers and he hesitated.

"My name is Nicolas Jules, the Marquis de Bonnaire." To top off the introduction, he swept a polite bow to her. The girl stepped back from him and her lips curved into a frown.

"I am Candela de la Vega."

"Ah! A Spaniard." Jules exclaimed pleasantly, finally placing the skin tone and accent he hadn't really noticed before. "My friend and I spent some time in Spain at one point. Oh, about twenty years ago. A charming place." The girl merely nodded and gripped her basket and parcels tighter, glancing about her at the daylight which was quickly fading.

"Yes, a charming place indeed." The maid dropped a quick curtsy and said, "If you will excuse me, I must be getting back home. the light is failing."

Ever the gentleman, Jules felt chivalry demanded he escort this woman home. she was obviously alone in the market and with the sun setting, Paris would quickly become a dangerous place for a lone woman. for the tiniest of moment, he faltered, remembering his chastisement to Raoul about courting the presence of a lesser woman but surely this evening could come to no harm. She was of the bourgeoisie. Probably the daughter of a merchant from Spain. A respectable girl without a doubt.

"Please, allow me to escort you to your home. It isn't safe for you to be alone." He offered, not failing to see the moment of panic in her eyes before she argued,

"I wouldn't wish to inconvenience you. I just live nearby. Near the Opera House." A pearl set of teeth nipped a pale pink bottom lip as the Marquis instantly straightened and replied,

"Then, I must insist to accompany you." While Jules was a logical man, he well knew there were some seedy folk that hung about the Opera House as well as the legends of the Opera Ghost might have inspired some cunning thieves. While it had been several months since the last incident, he would run no risks with the health of the lady in question.

"I assure you, I'll be fine." Taking a few light steps to go past him, Candela tried to put him off but the Comte's stubborn friend refused and insisted, leaving her no room for argument, to accompany her to safety. And, while she would have to think up a clever way to get away with him before disappearing down into the cellars, it would be beneficial for her to have an escort. The dagger in her girdle could only do so much against an attacker.

The first block was walked in silence as the two tried to think of something to talk about so the awkwardness would leave. Candela knew a suffieent amount about the Marquis to know he was a kind man if a little imperial. She was unsurprised when he didn't recognize her. While never rude to any of Raoul's servants, he never paid any mind to them. So, even though he had been served by her many times, he obviously remembered nothing of it. _The clothes do make the girl_. She thought as the Marquis spoke up,

"Mademoiselle de la Vega, I don't believe I have heard of someone with your last name in the city. What does your father do?" Here, the Spaniard hesitated. She had no idea who her father was, let alone what his occupation had been.

"My father has been dead for many years. As well as my mother. I live with my uncle. He's a…retiring man. You wouldn't know him." _But, you would know his name._ Candela completed her sentence in her head and hoped the Marquis had bought her little lie. Why she didn't give him her usual spill about the Phantom being her husband, she would never know. Her impulsiveness took over.

"Ah! That's why he allows you out unchaperoned." The Marquis replied, not meaning any insult to the gentleman but surprised he would care so little for his niece.

"Usually I'm not out this late." Came the curt reply, cutting off that vein of conversation with a moment's hesitation. The Marquis accepted that was the end of the exchange on that subject and for the rest of the short distance, they contentedly discussed Spain.

As they arrived within a hundred yards of the side street Candela would need to turn down and she paused, quickly gathering a fake story to tell him.

"My house is just down the way. I'll be alright this last little way. It would a pleasure meeting you." She curtsied, her dark eyes giving him no choice but to bend to her will and bow to her.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Mademoiselle de la Vega." As she turned to walk away, he called out to her, "Wait, do you ever attend the operas at the Opera House?" When Candela shook her head, he continued, "Perhaps, you'd be willing to meet me at the steps four days from now? They will be showing Faust and I have an extra ticket."

At this, Candela vacillated for a moment. In truth, she was impressed that a Marquis was interested in her. Not many housekeepers found such attractions in their futures. Even with that puff of pride, she reminded herself that he believed her to be the daughter of some wealthy, untitled man and was likely to inherit all upon his death.

Yet, surely, going to an opera couldn't hurt too much.

"I…would be delighted." She said, smiling politely at him. "What time?"

"Say, eight o'clock? The front steps four days from tonight?" A silent nod was all the consent Jules needed before he bowed one last time to her and turned around to leave, glancing back only one time to see that the Spaniard had disappeared like a ghost from beneath the gas lamp.

 **E-OC**

Candela glided through the stone doorway, not noticing the darkness around her as she was still blushing and grinning at the Marquis advancements. His manner was polite and while Phillipe had always been a womanizer, the Marquis never seemed to.

"Well, Candela de la Vega, you have a date with a very important man. You better wear your best dress and look extra nice for him." Unable to erase the grin from her face, she hurried down the passages and upon arriving at the lake, froze.

Pacing before the black water was the shape of a man. A lantern was setting on the gravel and only showed the bottom of what must have been a fancy suit coat. Seemingly preoccupied, he had yet to notice her lantern, and so she quickly extinguished it and drew close to the man in question but not close enough to be within the aura of light.

"Who trespasses!" She demanded in her loudest voice, the reverberations echoing off the walls of the cavern they were within. The man grabbed the lantern and shot his hand high in the air, looking around for owner of the voice. By doing so, he reveled his face to the peering eyes of Candela.

It was the Comte de Chagny.


	7. Chapter 7

Raoul flung the lantern about his person, willing the light to stretch further than it would travel in the oppressing darkness. The voice was familiar to him but the abnormality of their meeting place and his agitation didn't allow him to remember the owner.

"Who are you? Reveal yourself!" He demanded, his voice shaking along with his hands. At that moment, a match was struck behind him and he whirled, only to see a lantern being lit. As the flame grew, he staggered backwards and gasped, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

The light colored his former maid's face in a very peculiar manner, causing her to appear almost deathlike with golden glowing eyes. An effect that left him short of breath as he reigned in his nervous-born terror.

"Candela!" His voice was relieved but not for long. As soon as the shock of her appearance wore off, it seemed to dawn in his eyes that she was here, below the Opera House, where she shouldn't have been. "Candela, what are you doing here?" His tone turned demanding as he approached her, no longer afraid.

Said girl merely smiled at him before saying,

"I'm returning home. It should be I who asks you why you're here. On the lake which leads to my home. You are trespassing, Comte de Chagny."

"I…" His mouth hung open as he watched the girl fluidly glided past him and set her baskets and parcels into the boat as if it were an everyday occurrence. "I asked my question first." Candela shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes before turning back to the young nobleman.

"I live here. This is the Phantom's and my home." The baffled and bewildered look in the young man's eyes was quite worth the little chuckle that escaped the maid.

"But….but…you said you were the servant to eccentric elderly gentleman!" Raoul felt quite lost as he watched his former maid calmly tell him that she was living with the Phantom after having been under the impression she had found a respectable position.

"I am. I am the cook, housekeeper, maid, and butler to the Opera Ghost. When you threw me out of your home without so much as a recommendation, I found my way down here by accident and installed myself in those positions." Hanging the lantern on the front of the boat, she paused, waiting for a response from the stunned Comte.

"You're…his…m-maid?" The reply required no counter except for a curt nod and it was several moments before the Comte was able to resume speaking. At first, he thought she could easily be a replacement for Christine, another innocent girl that the Ghost was holding prisoner, perhaps even to sate his own lust. The thought made the supper Raoul had consumed some hours before departing rise into his throat. But after one look at her, one could tell she was neither abused nor under a spell. Her manners were sharp and her eyes clear.

The girl was content in her place, whatever else it might be aside from the Phantom's servant.

"I came to speak to Phantom. About…about…Christine." He glanced down and trailed off as he arrived at the name of his darling wife. Hope did bloom in his chest as he thought the discussion might go better if there was a third and calmer person between them. He was under no illusions as to the Ghost's opinion of him.

"What has happened to her?" Candela turned once more to face him and tried to keep her voice uninterested but one couldn't help but pity the young Comtesse and Candela's curiosity wouldn't dissipate until she knew the condition of the girl.

"She has been in a drugged sleep for these past few weeks. Her mental and physical health is waning quickly due to nightmares and inexpressible terror while she is awake. I was hoping that…that he might help her…" Raoul felt his energy drain from his body as his hope once again plummeted. He had nothing to bribe the Ghost with and it seemed he had moved on from Christine. Moved on enough no to die.

"I can't let you see him. He will kill you." Candela replied frankly as she reached for the pole to her boat. "Your wife's name hasn't been spoken in this place since my arrival and I won't be the one to bring it up. If you wish to save the Comtesse, you must seek somewhere above the ground. There is no cure here for you." Her voice was colder than the tunnels he had traversed to arrive in the Godforsaken underground home. Yet, her responses were unsurprising.

"I understand." He muttered before turning and departing without another word to spectral Spaniard, alone on the dark water.

 **E-OC**

"Supper's ready!" A call interrupted Erik's music accompanied by the smell of something delicious. While on normal occasions he might have been drawn in by the lure of food and pretty smiles (oh how he loved pretty things!), he snarled, frustrated with her intrusion into his quietude.

"Leave me alone!" He shouted back, returning to the dark entr'acte he had been composing for his opera. while shrouded in the wild music he wanted nothing more than to stay there. Stay where nothing hurt. Where he could feel nothing.

But, such a delight was not to be as moments after his order, the door to his room opened and that bright ray of annoying sunshine walked in, a bright smile on her pale lips and a bit of glitter sparkling in her eyes. With her was the tray that held his dinner.

"No need to be so grouchy about it!" She said, the smile weaving its way through her voice and grating on his ears as fingernails on chalkboard. None of his moods seemed to affect her, something that irritated him to no end especially when his temper was foul. Oh! There were times he seriously wondered about thrusting her into the mirrored room she had changed into a clothes' line.

"I'm not being grouchy. Leave Erik alone. He's not hungry." He replied, without even glancing at what he could only assume due to the smell was beet and potatoes soaked in gravy.

"He may not be hungry but I'm sure you are." She said, jabbing playfully at his habit of referring to himself in third person. Usually, he shrugged it off or glared at her but this was the last straw for him. Rising to his feet in all his phantom persona, he roared at the dark-eyed girl,

"Get. Out!" She blinked a couple of times in his direction before huffing and spinning on her heel.

"Well, if that's all the gratitude I'm going to get you'll be making your own suppers from now on." Head held quite proudly, she stalked from the room, leaving the bewildered ghost to stare where she had once been.

All the responses he would receive upon the surfacing of his anger was a tossing of her hair and a "humph" which would be followed by her dramatic exit. Never once did she cower, or snivel, or shrink into a corner. If anything, she responded with her version of a fine temper.

 **E-OC**

"You don't mean them, do you, Candela?" The girl asked herself, after her dinner, as she carefully counted out her francs to see if she could afford a nicer dress for her opera date. "You'll be back to cooking his supper by tomorrow night. Perhaps you should go apologize." At this, the Spaniard wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"Nope, he was the one who was in a foul mood." With a thoughtful frown, she continued, "Perhaps it was a good thing I never mentioned the Comtesse. It would have just caused problems."

"The Comtesse?" Candela tensed immediately at the sound of her master's voice in the doorway of her room. Glancing upward, the girl found the Phantom seemed to have forgotten their little tiff before the evening repast and was keen on letting the subject drop. As for his over-hearing her recent comments. Speaking out loud every thought did have its draw backs.

"Yes…" She trailed off and quickly determined how much of her past to tell him. "I met my former employer today who spoke of his wife. She is unwell."

"A Comtesse?" Candela nodded, knowing full well the term was a painful one to him. Even if he didn't know she spoke of the Comtesse de Chagny, the title reminded him all too much of her.

"Yes. Did you enjoy your meal?" She asked, quickly agreeing and shifting the subject, not keen to upset her current employer's delicate mental balance. While she never did fear his anger or worry over her safety, she wished to cause him as little pain as possible. His pain was quickly becoming hers as she found herself being more and more biased to his side.

Even without knowing the details of his no doubt sordid past, Candela never once believed it filled with anything but torment. The warmth in her heart to the odd ghost she served grew with each passing day in his presence and, surely there would come to reason to tell of the Comtesse.

"Why do you count your money?" He asked, completely ignoring her former question as if to avoid the subject entirely. Conceding, she replied,

"I need to buy a nice dress. I met someone today who is going to escort me to the Opera in four days' time." If the mask hadn't been securely in place, Candela was convinced she might have seen the look of possessive concern flash across the surface. As it was, his eyes narrowed and his shoulders straightened, his figuring filling the doorway completely.

"With who?" The tone of his demanding question reminded her of an overly protective father or even that of a jealous lover. The last option, she chose to ignore and merely let a charming smile cover her features in a soft light.

"Nicolas Jules, the Marquis de Bonnaire. He is an old friend of my former employer. A middle-aged but pleasant man with no vices. He didn't recognize me from his many visits at the manor house and seemed quite enamored with me, for some reason." She brushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at the memory of all she knew of the Marquis. "He was married once but the woman ran off. He believes I'm the niece of an eccentric gentleman who never escorts me home when I'm out at night."

To all this, the Phantom snorted, sending Candela into a fit of giggles. His mask shifted into what she could only assume was his puzzled expression, only seeming to prolong the laughter.

"Forgive me, Monsieur Phantom. Night has fallen and I have quite lost my mind." A slow nod was all she received from the aloof man as she rose and tucked away her money, determining to count it all later. "Come, let's forget the Marquis and have a nice chat in parlor."

After Candela dragged the reluctant Phantom who muttered about having music to compose into the living room, she pushed him into an arm chair and handed him the newspaper she had bought that afternoon. Grabbing her crocheting, she instructed him to read to her something fascinating.

It wasn't long before their highly intellectual conversation digressed into Candela inquiring if cats had unique fingerprints like humans did.

That was when Erik threw the newspaper onto the coffee table and fled to his room, not quite sure if he could handle anything more from Candela. Though unbeknownst to him, the green seed of jealousy was planted deep within his dead heart by thinking of Candela on the arm of a man.

A man that wasn't him.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I've been reading some other books on here and noticed that many of the authors respond to their reviewers in the next chapter. I may not do it all the time but I would like to try. I really do want to show how much I appreciate all of you!

sarahandmarquis

MortishaAddams: Thank you so much for your kind review! I have actually been worried that it wasn't much like Erik so your comment really encouraged me!

 **E-OC**

Chapter 8:

"Well, how do I look?" Candela asked as she turned in a small circle in front of Erik who was seated on the settee in the parlor. "Not too horrible, I hope?" A light smile teased her mouth and he merely responded with a shrug.

"I've seen worse." The irritable Phantom replied, giving her attire no more than a passing glance. For the whole evening, he had been unexplainably bad tempered and Candela attributed it to a waning of his inspiration. As soon as it bottomed out and began to rise again, he would return to his almost genial self again.

"Quite a compliment out of you." She rolled her eyes and breezed out of his presence to find her white gloves and make sure she was completely ready to go out for the evening. As she passed by the mirror in her room, she paused and turned to look at herself, smiling and turning so she might see her whole form.

"Candela, you don't look too bad." She remarked, brushing her fingers over the purple velvet of her skirts before tugging on her gloves and flexing her hands in them. They were, like the entire ensemble, new items for her. Even on her outing as a middle class gentleman's wife, she kept the least amount of underclothing as possible. Yet, to be considered proper enough to attend an Opera, everything was required from the chemise to the garniture (of which the later, she had reduced as much as politely possible).

With a glowing smile, she scooped up her fan and strode from the room, making her back into the parlor and towards the front door. Glancing around, she found herself once again alone as the Phantom seemed to have made his escape into his room.

With a shrug, she gathered her skirts about her and made her way quickly to the surface where she called a cab to take her the last little ways to the steps. One must put on a good show after all.

 **E-OC**

As the Marquis's carriage rolled to a halt, his servant appeared beside the door and folded down the steps so he could disembark smoothly. Glancing about, he saw a lovely lady in white and purple standing beside one of the gargoyles.

"Mademoiselle de la Vega." He whispered to himself as he approached the dark haired beauty and addressed her to her face. The girl turned to face him and a smile spread across her face.

"Good evening, Marquis de Bonnaire." She dropped a polite curtsy as he bowed to her and then offered his arm.

"And, the same to you as well. Shall we go in?" Her courteous nod and genteel way of accepting his arm and walking beside him caused him to, for several moments, consider if she was one of the untitled nobles. Ever since the French Revolution, titles had, to some degree, gone by the wayside, families only keeping them for pride's sake.

After presenting their tickets to the doorman, they were, for the most part, unnoticed through the throngs of people chatting in the Grand Foyer. Jules allowed the young lady a moment to admire her surrounding as she seemed quite enamored with the beauty of the place. The Palais Garnier had always been one of the crowning jewels of Paris and it was for a reason.

Despite having lived beneath the mighty building, Candela had never see the place above the surface. The richly pained floors, gold-covered statues, and the intricate walls décor was all pleasantly assaulting to her eyes. Capped with the sweeping staircase leading away from her and the Marquis, it was a sight well worth the seeing.

"It's so beautiful!" She exclaimed, turning to face her escort and smiling widely at him for the first time since their arrival. The Marquis reveled a moment in the light of her smile before guiding her towards the staircase.

"It is. But, wait until you see the Salle. The Grand Escalier and Foyer will seem nothing." Eager to view something that could be more beautiful than that which she had already beheld, Candela happily walked beside him as they ascended the elegant staircase.

Upon arriving at the top, they were escorted by an older woman, matronly and dressed in black, not possessing more than two teeth in her head, to their box. Candela happened to glance upward and saw a gold number five nailed to the door.

 **E-OC**

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Jules asked as the curtain closed on the final scene and people began to file out while the pair of them remained seated. Candela responded with a dip of her head before she drained the last drops from her cup of tea.

"Yes, very much." She replied as she rose. "What time is it?" The Marquis removed the gilded pocket watch from his pocket and flicked the cover open.

"Eleven o'clock. I was hoping, since it is still rather early, if you might accompany me to a nearby restaurant for a late supper?" He rose and gave her a winning smile in hopes she might agree to the outing.

Candela hesitated for a moment, wondering if such an action was wise considering their station difference and relationship but, even after such thoughts, she could find no reason to say no. The Phantom hadn't given her a particular time to return and it wasn't so late.

"That sounds very nice." She said as he gently took her arm and the pair left the Opera House towards the end of the migration of the Parisian nobility from the grand structure. As it turned out, he was correct ad the restaurant was quite close and quite quaint in its manners.

Once they were seated and had ordered their meal, the Marquis folded his hands in front of him and admired the lovely woman before him. The white and purple of her elegant gown hardly suited her brown features yet, she was one of the loveliest sights he had seen all evening. Her dark eyes were smiling, holding secrets he found himself wishing to know.

"Tell me about yourself," he blurted out, moments afterward, reprimanding himself for his boldness. He, as a middle-aged gentleman should have long ago learned proper manners and courtesy around a lady but, around this woman, he felt like a boy again, young and impetuous. As soon as the words registered with her, he saw the surprise in her eyes.

"There's very little to know, Señor. My life has been a rather uneventful one." She replied, a small smile tugging at the edges of her mouth.

"I know you have an uncle and you are from Spain but you haven't told me anything else. Tell me about your parents? Or your education?" He asked, anxious to learn more about this woman who captivated his mind so much.

"Ah!" Candela replied as she fought to think of responses that would mostly mildly twist the truth of her own tale. "I was born in Spain, eighteen years ago to a woman of modest means. I never met my father; mother said he died before I was born in an accident, leaving her with a comfortable income that would take care of her for the rest of her life and mine. She died of consumption when I was thirteen and I went to live with my uncle here in Paris." Her eyes damped at the memory of her mother, a woman who spent many years trying to be everything for her daughter while keeping food on the table and a roof over her head.

Oh! There were times she hated her father for leaving her mother with a child! But, it had happened and she had been born. If she were to ever find the man who impregnated her mother, she wouldn't know whether to hate him or love him.

"My learning was mostly at home, my mother taught me watch she could and hired a tutor for the rest." She didn't bother to include that she had taught herself since her mother's passing. Anything she wanted to know, she had acquired from books.

"Was it quite thorough?" Jules asked as their meals arrived, steaming hot and smelling wonderful. While obviously part of the middle-class and therefore granted little chance at the education of the nobility, the Spanish maiden appeared to a woman well versed in many subjects.

"Quite. My mother was a good teacher and I love to read." Candela shuddered a moment, recalling the other things she had learned from her mother. Before her escape to France, it had been expected that she would follow in the footsteps of her mother and work in the cantina, so part of the education had be devoted to the tasks involving a barmaid's life. Those were lessons she was slowly purging from her mind.

The Marquis watched Candela's face shift for a moment before returning back to her cheery smile as they began to eat. Deciding to change the subject from herself, Candela finished her bite and said to the Marquis,

"Tell me about you."

 **E-OC**

"Erik, relax. It's not so late. She'll be home soon." Nadir said as he flipped through the previous week's newspaper while his friend paced back and forth in front of the fire. Erik's distain and distrust of nobility were well-known and they were currently clouding his judgement in regards to where his maid was.

"I don't like it! The opera should have ended at eleven. It's twelve and she's not home yet."

"No doubt he took her out for dinner. I know of the Marquis de Bonnaire and he is a gentleman. Despite having been friends with Phillippe de Chagny, he remained polite and respectful." The tales of the former Comte's love escapades were all over the Opera House though, towards the end of his life, he had remained faithful, for the most part, to La Sorelli.

"Erik still doesn't like it."

"Of course you don't. You are a very possessive character. She's young and has a life to live. Including being escorted to operas by fine gentleman. Your maid is a very sensible lady and will return home soon intact." Erik's only reply was a grunt.

The maid had become, over the past few months, the best thing to ever enter his life and while he assured himself he held nothing more than surface feelings (his heart had been quite dead since the departure of his beloved) for the girl, they were there nevertheless. He wanted to protect her. If the Marquis proved himself worthy this time, then, he would allow her to see him. The thought of her continuing a relationship with the nobleman stung but he ignored it.

While each of the two men were lost in thought, the front door opened and the woman in question breezed in. One look in her eyes confirmed to both Erik and Nadir that the evening had been success.

"Oh! That was the best evening of my life! I never knew nobility could be interesting to talk to. The opera was wonderful; he seems to be reasonably knowledgeable about music. Afterwards, we went to a small restaurant and talked for nearly an hour." She gasped for breath as she breathed for the first time since she had walked in.

"But, I'm tired so I believe I will go on to bed. Goodnight, all!" With a wave, the slightly mad girl swished and clicked her way down the hall to her bedroom, leaving Erik and Nadir with jaws slightly ajar.

"Did she drink something?" The Phantom muttered, frowning towards where the young lady had disappeared.

"Who knows." Was Nadir's only reply.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

"How is she?" Inquired the Marquis as he stood beside the pale Comte.

"The doctors are telling me to take her away when she wakes up. Take her somewhere to warmth. I'm afraid to take her though! She is terrified to stay but terrified to leave." Raoul leaned forward and brushed a blond curl from the face of his lovely wife. She was unconscious. There was no sleep for her, merely mindless emptiness caused by drugs.

"My last hope refused to help me." He whispered, clinching his fists until his nails dug into the palms of his hands, almost drawing blood. "He won't help." Lowering his head, he held his tight hands against his forehead. "I was so desperate, I sought the Phantom's help! He loved her and I had hoped…" The Comte trailed off again, his voice weak from exhaustion and lack of sleep.

"You went to that madman!" The Marquis exclaimed, surprised to hear of the great length his young friend was willing to go for the sake of his sick darling. The pale girl had done nothing to deserve such affection. The little time the Marquis had known her had only served to tell him of her goodness, not any virtues.

"Yes, I had no other options! But, he refused me." Raoul remembered Candela's request that no one know of her and he would keep his word to his former employee. She happy five stories below the Opera and though he didn't trust the ghost, he wouldn't put her happiness at risk. The girl had always been quite odd.

"I think you best take her away even if she doesn't regain consciousness soon." The Marquis stared down at the sleeping bride of his friend. "Get her away from this place."

"Do you think it can be done?"

"It must be done." The Marquis turned away and strode towards a window overlooking the gardens. "My cousin will be coming a week. With her will come some of her servants. It would be quite simple for us to take care of the town house for you. You may take your people with you and we shall care for it here."

Raoul hung his head and conceded. It was a logical choice. He would leave, taking his dying bride with him. Perhaps they would go to Spain. Or Italy! Somewhere warm with sea air to revive her. Away from the winter of Paris.

"We shall be gone before the week is up. She will get better. She must get better." Jules drew back to the doorway, preparing to take his leave.

"She will, Comte. She will. Now, forgive me, but I must go. I have a lunch date I mustn't break." Raoul almost chuckled.

"With that lady the papers have been talking none stop about? A Spaniard I believe?" The Marquis laughed.

"Yes, I have finally found a woman worth my time and effort. Perhaps, upon your return, I may introduce you and Christine to her."

"We shall look forward to the pleasure."

"And, I as well." With a nod, he left the room and returned to the front door where his carriage waited for him. Speedily they made their way towards the café Candela and he had previously arranged. When on a lunch date with a pretty lady, one must never be late.

 **E-OC**

"Where are you going?" Erik demanded of Candela as she flitted around the living room in search of her gloves. She found the article of clothing before turning to him to address his question.

"I told you last night. I am going to lunch with the Marquis. I shall be back in plenty of time to make your supper and I have already prepared your lunch. I believe the great Phantom of the Opera is more than capable of warming his own meal." She giggled and slid on her gloves before hurrying to the door for her hat and umbrella.

Erik's decided frown drew another giggle from her.

"Be careful, Candela." She nodded and picked up the other articles necessary for a proper afternoon out. A smile bathed her features as she waved goodbye to him.

"I shall be, Monsieur!"

She quickly closed the door behind her and pictured up the spare lantern. Deciding against the boat trip due to the excessive skirts, Candela made her way through the land route around the lake and up through the cellars.

Slipping out through the little door she had fallen through many months ago, she stored the lantern just inside the door and, opening her umbrella and securing her hat, she hurried to the steps of the Opera House, the meeting place which she and the Marquis had decided upon.

A few moments after her arrival, a large carriage pulled to a halt before the steps and the Marquis stepped out, smiling as he laid eyes on her.

"Mademoiselle Candela, you look lovely this afternoon." He took her hand in his and swept a bow as he kissed the member, causing Candela to barely resist a giggle.

"Gracias, Señor." The pair shared a laugh as he offered his arm and she accepted it.

"Where shall we go? I offered you lunch but I believe I failed to state where."

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with the restaurants. Perhaps you could suggest something?" Candela offered.

"I know a lovely little café near to a park. How does lunch and then a walk sound? Will your uncle allow me to steal you away for so long?" His eyes twinkled and once more she laughed.

"I don't think he will mind so very much."

"Then, let us go. It is just a short stroll from here." Candela gave the Marquis a pleasant smile as they began their walk in moderate silence, simply enjoy the peace and beauty of Paris. It wasn't until they were almost to the café when the Marquis spoke up,

"My cousin is coming to visit me. I should like you to meet her. Perhaps you two may find some common interests?"

Candela's heart leapt at the thought of having a female to talk with. If there was one thing her life had denied her, it was female friends. When she was with her mother, the girls of her age shunned her. When she was a servant, she never fit in. And, now, her life five stories below the Opera with a surly Opera Ghost was hardly conducive to female companionship.

"I should like that as well. Is she near my age?"

"No, the Duchess is in her early thirties. I trust you don't mind children? She will be bringing her son with her."

"Is her husband joining her?" The Marquis shook his head sadly.

"No, she was married very young to an English Duke who took her away to England with him. When he died some ten years after their marriage, she returned to France. I have tried to find her another husband but she seems determined to remain unmarried." He chuckled and Candela joined him.

"You think that a woman should be married?"

"It is a wise precaution in life. If a woman can find a man who she cares for, even as a friend, marriage would be an excellent way to secure her future."

"What of love?"

"One must have more than love to survive. Money and brains and generally necessary." Candela smiled and lightly patted the Marquis's arm as they walked into the café.

"I agree with you. Love isn't everything. It is a pleasant thing but one cannot eat love or house yourself with love. One must be practical." Jules chuckles and their conversation turned towards more trivial things during their lunch.

When the meal was finished, he paid and escorted her down the street to nearby park. It was winter but there was still a cold beauty about the paths and walkways. Several places even had winter flowers blooming.

"How is the Comte and his wife?" Candela asked, meaning to be simply polite but also a bit curious as to the fate of the Comtesse. Unfortunately, the newspaper wasn't something she had access to.

"Raoul is well but Christine is faring badly. I told me just this morning that he is going to take her out of Paris and somewhere south. He mentioned Spain or Italy. Somewhere warm with the sea air. He hopes it will help her recover."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear she is ill. I do hope she gets better. Everything possible has been done?"

The Marquis nodded.

"Everything. Raoul even consulted that monster that started everything but he won't help." Candela's breath caught in her throat as she realized who he spoke of. _I mustn't give anything away._

"You mean the Phantom of the Opera? I thought he dead!"

"So does the whole of Paris. And, I hope, to them he is dead. You mustn't worry your head with that creature. I don't believe he will surface again."

"I am sorry he wouldn't help." She looked away. Her employer was safe as long as they believed he was dead and she wouldn't ever have to worry about his safety.

"I suppose I should be as well. But, I am glad he will stay away. I fear he would hurt my friend's wife more than help her." A smile broke his frown. "But, let's speak no more of him. With warm and quiet surrounding, I am sure Christine will return to her full strength. Perhaps there shall be children soon for the pair of them."

Candela nodded, wishing her former employer the best. The Phantom was recovering from the shattered heart and with time, they all would heal. Time was a good healer if allowed to do its work.

"I'm sure they will be very happy together."

The conversation ceased for a while before they walked by a bench which the Marquis gestured to.

"Shall we sit down?"

"Of course." He took her hand and helped her to her seat before sitting beside her. He didn't release her hand and she waited patiently to see what he had in mind.

"Mademoiselle Candela…Candela, we've attended the opera together two weeks ago and now a lunch date. It's not long, I know, but would like to ask your permission to speak to your uncle about courting you."

Candela stared at him, stunned. While she had expected at some point, if they continued their relationship, he would ask her about courting perhaps even marriage.

But this was so soon!

"I…I…" She stammered as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"I haven't offended you, I hope?" She shook her head quickly.

"No, not at all. I simply wasn't expecting it. Um, I don't mind if you speak to my uncle. I will let him know and you may arrange for when to speak to him. I'm honored you wish to court me." She smiled at him. Her little lie would have to go on for a little while longer. Perhaps if it went long enough, he might never know she was a servant.

He was a kind man, no vices that she had discovered yet. Courting him would be a wise, safe move for her. She forced away the bad feeling in her stomach.

"Candela, thank you!" He grasped both her hands in his and kissed the backs of them. "I hope to speak with him soon."

"I as well." Candela said as she blushed and glanced away.

"I should return you home. Shall we meet again, at the stairs of the Opera, a week from today, about the same time as today? My cousin should be here by then and you may come to tea and dinner with us. If that is convenient?"

Candela nodded.

"That is perfectly convenient."

"Then, I shall look forward to seeing you again then. Shall I walk you home?" She shook her head and stood up.

"No, I have an errant to run. I bid you good day." She dropped a curtsy and swished away from the Marquis, leaving him sitting on the bench, a brilliant smile plastered all over his face.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I don't know what you will think of this. I want y'all to comment and tell me what you think. I may take it down and revise it but we'll see. I do hope you like it though as it has been quite a while since I posted on this story and for that I'm sorry. Writer's block is a problem for me and I've been under high stress for a while.

sarahandmarquis

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter 10:

Severely agitated by the Marquis's words, Candela hurried away from the park and hastened towards the home of Nadir Khan. It had been sometime since she had seen the Persian gentleman but she felt as if he was the only one who could possibly help her.

As she wended her way through the scattered groups of people that littered the streets, the maid fretted and even pushed a few tears aside. In her mind, it had all been planned. It would be so simple. The Marquis would court her, she would marry him, and her past would never become a part of it.

"I have been living a lie." She whispered, determining in her heart to fix something no matter the stab of fear. While she didn't love the Marquis, her heart hurt to think of shattering his. He had been nothing but good to her.

Pausing her quick step, she looked up at the common flat and quietly read the number in her head.

"This must be the place." With a confidence that was not her own, she stepped to the door and tapped with the knocker. All was silent within for a moment before the door was opened by a dark-skinned man, completely unknown to her.

"Yes, how may I help you?" He asked as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"I came here to speak to Signor Khan. He may or may not have spoken of me but I am a maid of a friend of his. I must speak with him as soon as possible." Candela caught herself twisting her fingers into the fine lace of her dress and stilled her fingers. The gentleman stepped out of the way and gestured for her to enter.

"If you will wait here for a moment, I shall inquire if he is available." He bowed low to her and disappeared into the dark flat, forsaking her near a few burnished candlesticks emitting their thin light. By the golden glow, she saw the walls were heavily decorated with tapestries and art of the far East. A small buck crouched near the doorway and peered up at her through empty glass eyes. Despite being faintly uncomfortable, she knelt before the mount and reached out, lightly stroking its black nose.

Nearly pure white, the buck was like nothing she had ever seen before or even read about. Small boned, the deer couldn't have stood more than three feet high when living and the head and antlers wouldn't have reached her shoulder.

Completely entranced by the buck, she didn't even notice as the servant returned and softly called her name. Jumping to her feet, she blushed and straightened her skirts.

"Yes. I'm sorry." He allowed the subject to drop and replied,

"Mr. Khan will see you now. If you will follow me…?" Candela nodded and scampered after the servant as he led her through the darkened hallways and towards one room where light poured from beneath the closed door. The servant lightly knocked before opening the door and stepping back, gesturing for her to enter. Taking a deep breath, she walked over the threshold and was greeted with wide open windows of the most exotic room she had ever seen.

Thick Persian carpets covered the floors, desks and bookshelves were carved of golden white and reddish wood, and books of other languages filled the room, littering the whole place. Yesterday's paper lay on the desk beside a letter opener and quill pens.

Yet, Candela had not come to visit the oddities of the room but the man who was approaching her with a smile covering his wrinkled face.

"Candela de la Vega! How good to see you! How have you been doing? I haven't heard from you in nearly three weeks. The night of the Opera?" Candela laughed and held out her hands which he gave a kindly squeeze to.

"You are correct, and I've been well."

"You haven't caught some illness from living in the cold and damp?" He inquired as he offered her a seat in front of his desk and he returned to his behind the article of furniture.

"No!" She laughed a little, lightening her heart from the heavy weights that had been pressing down on it. "I'm quite well. I bundle up a little but Signor Phantom always keeps the fires nice and warm. I have never had to worry about getting cold or sick."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, might I ask why you're here? I hope nothing is wrong with Erik?" Candela shook her head and looked back down at her hands.

"I need help and I have no one else to turn to. I hope you don't mind…" Candela trailed off quietly only to have Nadir quickly speak up,

"I don't mind at all. We're friends and I'm willing to help you at any time."

"You are aware that the Marquis de Bonaire has been showering his attentions on me?" Nadir nodded and Candela continued,

"Our relationship is under false pretenses as he doesn't know I am a servant. He believes I am a middle-class woman living with my uncle. And, now he wishes to speak to my 'uncle' about courting me. The thing is, the man I have been keeping in mind as my 'uncle' is Signor Phantom. I never thought about him ever having to meet him. It should have crossed my mind but it never did.

"So, I need advice on whatever I am to do. I don't relish telling him the truth but if I must I will. Honestly, I don't what to do." Glancing upward at the Persian, her eyes burned with hope only to be greeted with a thoughtful frown. He rose from his seat and walked over to one of the windows and looked out at the street. For a long moment, he was silent before he turned to her.

"If you tell him, he will likely leave you in a moment. You're very charming and pretty and seemingly sharp but that's not enough to keep a marquis, even if he is a good man who loves you." She didn't bother to respond to this as it was quite true.

"Do you love him?" At this, Candela began to twist her fingers into the lace one more before shaking her head.

"I don't believe I do. I am fond of him and like his company but I don't believe I love him."

"You would marry him to secure your position?" His blunt statement cut her for a moment and she looked away him. Gold-digging wasn't her intention.

"I suppose that would be true. Signor Phantom won't live forever but by the time he is gone, I will be no good except for a servant for the rest of my life. I don't want to end like my mother. I want something more. Is that so wrong?"

"No, I suppose not. And, you did say you are fond of the Marquis. Marriage for money and position aren't uncommon and at least being partial to your partner is pleasant addition to arrangements. I do approve of your relationship as he is a good man. What you tell him and what you don't is for you to decide. But, I can't imagine what you need my help for."

"I need someone to play my uncle. I can't ask Signor Phantom." Nadir sighed softly as he looked at the torn girl before him. Once a maid in a large house with no one trying to vie for her attention and now, she was having to handle a relationship forbidden by all.

He pitied her situation.

"I'll play your uncle." Candela's eyes shot upward as she stared, flabbergasted, into his jade pupils.

"I…I…I don't know how to thank you, Signor Khan! I don't wish to be a problem – "

"No problem at all." He interrupted. "I do nothing all day. I think I can play a grouchy uncle for a few hours to secure the future of a friend. Now, tell me what all I need to know to play this correctly. As this may take a little while, would you consider staying for dinner?"

 **E-OC**

As the last note rang through the scarlet bedchamber, Erik raised his masked head from the organ and listened intently. Not a sound disturbed the peace of the house. frowning, he rose from his bench and walked into the hallway and from there to the kitchen, calling out,

"Candela? Where are you?" Retrieving the pocket watch from his coat, he flicked it open and gasped at the time. The Spaniard should have been back long before the hands of the clock indicated. Scrambling to search the entirety of the small house, he quickly determined it to be empty.

Candela was missing.

Panicking, he grabbed his cloak, patting the hidden pocket to confirm that his lasso was present, and bolted out of the house, preferring the longer route around as he didn't trust his shaking limbs with the steering of the boat.

As he ascended the many steps and passages out of his dank hole, he forced himself not to fear the worst for his maid. Instead, he offered himself excuses, telling himself that perhaps she had shopping to do or that the Marquis had coaxed her into staying far longer than she had intended. None of them fit quite right but he stubbornly determined in his own mind she was well and alive.

"She must be alive." He whispered to himself as he surfaced and bolted into the first available shadow, scanning from its safety every passing pedestrian in the hopes of seeing his Spanish maid's kindly face. Blood running cold and fear twisting his mind, he began a thorough inspection of every byway which led towards the park she had told him of.

A half hour later, he arrived at the park and found it empty. A quick but complete investigation of every tree, bush, and bench proved unsuccessful and Erik progressed beyond panic, his breathing growing short and concentration breaking.

Grasping his chest, he sank down in the dark against a tree, his eyes fluttering close for a moment. His mind swam. For an instant, he thought he was about to lose consciousness. Shaking himself violently, he forced his eyes open and his overreacting brain locked onto one name.

"Nadir." Scrambling to his feet, he kicked up grass pieces as he ran towards Nadir's flat, his black cloak whipping behind him and leaving many of those he crossed with the feeling that the harbinger of death had passed them by.

 **E-OC**

"Oh dear! I didn't see how dark it was getting! Erik will be wondering where I have been this whole afternoon." Candela quickly rose to her feet and drank down the last of her cup of coffee. The heat had warmed her stomach and her conversation and plans with Nadir left her greatly comforted.

"I understand." Nadir replied as he rose and walked around to her side of the table. "Shall I escort you home? It is dark and this weather isn't pleasant for walking such a long distance."

"Yes, that would be very nice." She replied with a kind smile and tugged her gloves onto her hands once more. "I should like an escort."

"If you would wait one moment in my study, I will send my servant to find one." She nodded politely and disappeared into his study to wait. Even after spending most of her afternoon there, the room held a certain fascination for her. After glancing over the books, her eyes were drawn towards the newspaper lying on his desk. Having not paid attention to it before, she hadn't noticed the headline which mentioned the Opera House.

 **NEW MANAGAMENT FOR THE OPERA HOUSE**

 _Armand Moncharmin and Firmin Richard, the managers of the Paris Opera House, are turning over the reins of the magnificent structure after the incident with the Phantom of the Opera has left both with shattered nerves. Despite having managed for nearly a year past the last communication with the ghost, both managers have decided the trepidation about his possible reappearance is too much for them._

Candela gasped quietly but before she could continue reading the article, Nadir walked back in and said,

"So, you've found it." She nodded and set it down.

"Yes. I hadn't read yesterday's paper yet and apparently now I should have. What's going to happen? This could mean some bad things for Signor Phantom and I. Would the new management send down the police or the army after us?"

"I don't know." Nadir shrugged and offered his arm to her. "It could be bad." As they walked out of the door, an idea sprang to into Candela's mind and she quickly turned towards Nadir.

"What if Signor Phantom became the manager? Wasn't that what he did when he was the Phantom of the Opera? He wouldn't have to blackmail them anymore! It would give him something to do. He has some years left and he barely lives. That would give him an occupation." For a lone moment, Nadir's eyes lit up with the prospect but soon darkened.

"How could he? You know Erik won't show himself out of doors. He won't let anyone see him." Her insight quieted the maid for a moment before she produced an idea.

"He could find someone to be his face. Someone to take advice from him. I won't be around forever and I don't want him to left alone when I leave him."

"You must speak with – " Nadir's servant interrupted him right then, rapidly speaking of something in a foreign language. A second later, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs and a musical shout followed as the black shadow appeared before them,

"Nadir! She's – " Time stood still for a second as all sound died away. Golden eyes locked with dark ones as both seemed equally surprised to see the other. Erik's heart caught in his throat as he viewed his maid, unharmed yet stunned, standing at the side of his friend.

The sight left him quite weak as the adrenaline drained from his system.

As his shock wore off, his fear turned to fury.

"What are you doing here? You said you would be back this afternoon!" Drawing herself to her full height, the Spanish maid lifted her nose towards the masked gentleman.

"I had a problem I needed to discuss with Signor Khan and he invited me to stay for dinner. As you usually forget about lunch and dinner, I didn't think you would notice my absence." Offended by his criticism, she released Nadir's arm and marched proudly up to him.

"Since you are here now, you may escort me home. We will discuss both our behaviors once our tempers have cooled." A determined scowl plastered over her face, she gathered her skirts and headed towards the stairs, passing by the simmering man.

"Oh, and I found a job for you. I think you will like." Her voice faded away as she breezed down the stairs. Pausing at the bottom, she glanced back up and snapped,

"Coming or not?"

An awkward moment passed a hot-faced ghost and his snickering friend before Erik hastened after the maid.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

In this chapter, I have used the name of an English Duke. I am not English nor am I familiar with English nobility. I googled "English Dukes" and liked the name. So, pardon me if I have misused it. I meant not offense. Please enjoy this chapter! :)

sarahandmarquis

Chapter 11:

Stalking down the steps, Candela scanned the street and found the black cab, drawn by a flighty horse and driven by a shy-looking lad. Giving him a kindly smile, she hurried towards the hansom and handed him a few coins.

"In a moment, my companion will be here. Have you been told where to take us?" The boy bobbed his head.

"Yes, Ma'am. The Rue Scribe street next to the Opera House and I am to drop you off there and not look back." Candela nodded and glanced behind her at the sound of the door flying opening and boots striking the pavement.

"You are very right. I trust you have been paid enough for your silence?" A light batting of her eyes had him instantly agreeing and even choosing to ignore the dark companion as he climbed into the carriage before anyone could get a good look at his face.

After a quick smile to the driver, Candela scrambled into the cab and tapped on the roof to let him know they were ready to depart. Glancing upward at her riding partner, she scowled at him and he answered with a snarl.

"No need to get so upset over it all. You act as if I was doing something completely scandalous. I was having dinner with a friend after an afternoon with my suitor." His flinch at her mentioning the Marquis didn't go unnoticed by the maid and the movement puzzled her exceedingly. Only for a moment did it cross her mind that he might have become possessive of her.

"You should have told me."

"How? I needed to speak with Nadir immediately."

"About what? What could have been more important than keeping your promises?" Candela's mouth opened in preparation for the biting response that her mind would create but she found none lurking in the dark recesses of her brain. A moment passed before her façade crumpled and she lowered her proudly held head.

"The proper answer is nothing but I suppose even the best of people are prone to forgetfulness. I had much on my mind when I left the park. I'll try not to forget again, Signor Phantom. I didn't know that you would even notice my absence, let alone be angry over it."

Erik's fury had cooled with the lack of sufficient fuel and her subdued behavior had silenced him for a moment, only to have her last sentence rouse him into a righteous temper. How could she think that he wouldn't feel when she was gone! Now she was once more safe within his grasp, he had to struggle with the cold knife of terror in his gut.

She would leave.

Her young man would court her and sweep her off her feet. Even if she didn't love him now, she would one day. And, when she did, she would wed him and she would leave. A life of solitude no longer appealed to him as it had before. Erik found himself softened after a year's worth of companionship.

"Don't assume Erik ignores your existence in his house." He chewed on his bottom lip beneath the mask before reaching forward and ever so gently tilting her face to look at him. "He's been alone all his life. He knows when he is alone once more." She nodded slowly and closed her eyes, resting her head against the cab's seat and sighing quietly.

"What disturbed you so that you forgot? Has something gone wrong?" If her young man had done anything to harm her, Marquis though he was he would meet a swift end.

"The Marquis asked to speak with my uncle about courting me. It scared me because I don't have an uncle to show him. I went to Nadir to ask him and he volunteered to play him. So, that problem is solved."

Courting. He hadn't been far off. Within a year, she would likely be engaged and in less than two, married. The pretty girl who had served him loyally as his housekeeper wouldn't be "his" girl any longer but instead the girl of another man.

Of course, he would never be allowed to see her again. She would have her own life to lead, her own family to raise, her own husband to attend to. there would be no time in her life for an aging, sentimental freak.

As the carriage rattled to a stop, Erik was jolted from his thoughts, his color rising beneath the mask as Candela seemed to have noticed his mental vacancy. Climbing out behind her, he led her down the alleyway and, after stealing a quick glance behind him to be sure that the cabby hadn't waited to see where the pair would vanish too, opened the little door.

"In, quickly." Erik ordered, pleased when she obeyed him without hesitation. After lighting the lantern, he turned to look at the Spaniard and hesitated for a moment, disliking the lure those innocent dark eyes intentionally held.

She wasn't as ugly as he had originally thought.

 **E-OC**

Jules settled into his office chair and smiled as he sorted through the daily correspondence. Letters from business partners, bills, and, at the bottom of the stack, a note from his cousin. Grinning, he snatched up his letter opener and slit the envelope, withdrawing the single piece of paper, covered in messy writing.

"You never did learn, did you, Reine?" Chuckling, he opened the note and skimmed through.

 _Dearest Cousin,_

 _I trust you are well and happily waiting my soon arrival in Paris. It has been so long since we've seen either other! William is looking forward to seeing his 'uncle' so very much. You won't believe how big the boy has grown in the past few years. Nearly as tall as me, though, I suppose that isn't saying much after all._

 _He's so much like the Duke. It took me several hours to get him to accept that his horse wouldn't be coming with him and that you would have access to a horse for him to ride. He is an expert horseman even at his tender age. I tried not to raise his hopes too much that you would teach him how to fence but, if it wouldn't be too much of a problem, I ask that you would. It would make him so happy!_

 _But, enough about my family, I insist when I arrive that I meet this woman that the papers won't shut up about. I thought you'd never find another girl after the Spanish tavern girl of so many years ago. You sent me dozens of letters about how beautiful and sweet she was. I believe you called her Tina. Such a pretty nickname!_

 _Such fond memories. I do hope you're not looking for this Spaniard to be just like her. She was long gone years ago, Jules. Oh, well, I mustn't continue to prattle. My space on the paper is dwindling and I will see you soon._

 _With love,_

 _Marie Reine, Duchess of St. Albans_

After reading the closing remarks, the Marquis set aside the letter and sighed quietly. One of the trials of seeing his cousin was her continual remembering of Tina, a Spanish maiden he had met twenty years previously.

She had been the first love of his life but, as the lesser of the lovers, he had failed to the Comte. He played her for all she was worth, leaving her convinced he loved her. The faux love of Comte had blinded her to the true love of a Marquis.

Opening a drawer, he pressed a button which revealed a hidden compartment. Inside lay a lock of black hair safely tucked between two glass sheets, a handkerchief with the initials V.V. stitched into the white cloth, and a picture of a lovely lady dark haired and dark eyes, smiling up at the Marquis.

"Oh, my love…" He whispered. "You'd like Candela. She is a lot like you but different. As beautiful. As sweet. As smart. I don't know her very well but I do love her. I haven't forgotten you, just moved on. I will always love you. Even if our love was forbidden."

Planting a soft kiss on the picture, he tucked it back away and returned to his business affairs, smiling through the tears in his eyes.

 **E-OC**

"Tea." Candela announced firmly, as she set the tray down on the coffee table and handed Erik a cup. "Strong Russian as is your favorite." Adding sugar and cream to hers, she settled down opposite him and glanced up at the phantom.

"So, the Marquis wishes to court you?" The maid nodded and sipped on her tea before pursing her lips and adding more sugar.

"Yes, apparently, he is quite interested in me." Absently, Erik nodded.

"I see. And, you will allow him?"

"Of course, I can't live here forever, Signor Phantom. I don't want to be a servant for all my life. I want a future." A growl began in the throat of the Phantom but he quickly hushed it. She might be his housekeeper but he didn't own her. A year previously, he had tried to own a woman and it had ended in disaster.

Both he and her had been destroyed emotionally.

"A future that isn't down here."

"Or anywhere." Candela confirmed. "The Marquis de Bonnaire is my ticket out of servanthood. I will become something more than my mother ever was. She lived and died in a cantina as a maid. She had a child out of wedlock. I don't want that for myself. I saw what it did to her." Candela looked downward, closing her eyes.

Erik twisted his fingers together, finding the squeaking noise of rubbing leather fascinating at that moment. There was nothing left in life for him but she wasn't yet twenty. What did his happiness matter? Though it horrified his mind and cut his heart, he silently agreed to let her go.

He might have been a fool once but not twice.

But, why did it hurt so much?

Candela sighed and finished off her tea before refilling her glance and noting his had barely dropped level. Silence was defending between the pair as they both sipped on their tea, unsure where to go on from their thoughts.

A half hour later, the maid finally spoke up,

"Did you hear about the Opera House?" She inquired, glancing upward at her employer.

"What about the Opera House?"

"That the current managers are looking for new ones. Apparently, your lack is just as stressful as your presence." To this, the Opera Ghost scoffed and rose from his seat, setting aside the half-empty cup of tea.

"They never got over the Phantom." He murmured and beelined for the door, desiring to escape the awkward situation and sort out his thoughts.

"I want you to become the manager." Candela spoke quickly, hoping her words would halt him in his tracks. They did.

Erik spun to face her, his stance as if she had struck him across the face. Perhaps she had but it made little difference to her at that moment. One day she would be gone and she refused to allow the Phantom to live a life with no one and nothing. A man needed work, that she was convinced. He would be a perfect manager.

"Erik can't become a manager! He can't show his face above ground unless it is after dark and then, only in the shadows. You're mad, girl. Mad!" Candela shrugged and giggled quietly.

"That's nothing new. But, please listen to me. You have been a manager behind the scenes, working what you wanted through blackmail and threats. Wouldn't it be easier to do it yourself? Besides, it would give you something to do with your life. You're going to waste away down here with nothing to do. I want you to take care of yourself. If you have a purpose, perhaps you will."

Erik gazed into her eyes, kindness and friendship pouring from every cell of the dark irises. His heart trembled within his chest. She cared. She might not love him but she cared. Someone cared about him. Cared about his future and what would happen to him when she was gone.

She wanted what she thought was the best for him.

Yet, she was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"Erik cannot be a manager. That is the end of this discussion." Spinning on his heels, he strode from the room, leaving his maid to clean the house by herself while he poured out his tumultuous emotions on the ever-understanding pipe organ.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, here we go again! Another installment! I trust all of you are enjoying this! I would love to hear more reviews. Tell me what you like, what you hate, what you wish was different, anything really. Also, I'm really curious to see if any of you have any ideas where I'm going with this. You may give me an idea because honestly, other than for one thing I have been planning since the very beginning...I really don't know. This story has been just writing itself.

If you do give me a new idea that I end up using, I will be sure to recognize you if I can.

sarahandmarquis

Chapter 12:

Annoying as it was, Candela hardly believed the Ghost's final statement was just that, final. He would need something more than his music when the second woman in his life abandoned him for another. She would make sure he was set for life before she would even consider marrying the Marquis as that was no doubt his intention.

She would secure the Phantom and then herself.

Tugging lightly on her gloves, she twisted her fingers together and watched as a puff of air turned to fog in front of her mouth. That one though lingering in her mind, she boldly strolled up one of the two sprawling staircases of the Paris Opera House and in through one of the large doors.

Presented with her own lack of familiarity with the massive structure, she consulted the first person she found, a bubbly ballet rat.

"Pardon me, would you direct me to the managers' office, please?" In her false persona as a middle-class woman, Candela garnered respect from those of the lower classes, and the ballet girl was no exception.

"Of course, Mademoiselle. Follow me!" The girl's blond curls danced as she hopped her way down a hall, lighter on her feet than Candela could ever wish to be. The thought brought a touch of amusement to the Spaniard's face as she hurried after the light foot girl. After several passageways and even a set of stairs, the ballerina came to a stop before a simple door and softly knocked on the wood.

"Monsieur Firmin. Monsieur Andre. A lady to see you." At the quiet call of "come in", the girl opened the door and stepped back to allow Candela inside the plain offices of the managers. Two desks sat against opposite walls, one covered in papers, scores, and books while the other was nearly bare save for a pitcher of water and a glass. The whole room appeared to be in a state of packing as several boxes lay around and the walls were only half decorated, only those odds and ends which would remain when they left still hanging on the walls.

Two men stood near the solitary window and turned to face her when she walked through the door, holding her head high.

"Good afternoon, Señors." She addressed them politely, giving each of them a friendly smile. "I have come to ask you about your advertisement in the paper." Each of them looked confused and then surprised in turn and, before addressing her, spoke to the girl behind them,

"Thank you, Ms. Giry. You may go." The blond bobbed her head and pranced away, closing the door behind her.

"Now, Mademoiselle, I am Monsieur Firmin and this is my co-manager, Monsieur Andre and you have come about the position of manager?" Candela nodded.

"Yes, I have."

"You! A woman!" They joined together in a hearty laugh and the sound only hushed at her deep frown.

"Very comical." Candela remarked dryly, removing her gloves and tucking them into her reticule as the last chuckles slowly died away, leaving merely insulting smiles. When they were quiet enough for her to speak and not yell, she continued, "I have no come for myself but for a friend who is currently unavailable but might consider the position. Would you be willing to answer some of my questions?"

Apparently reconciled with talking some form of business with a woman, they showed her into the alcove with a seating area and nodded.

"Yes, please, Mademoiselle…?" Andre trailed off, hoping for her to fill in her name.

"Mademoiselle Candela de la Vega." For a scant moment, they glanced at each other and one of them tugged at his beard.

"Your name is familiar. Are you in the papers at all?"

"The Marquis de Bonnaire is my suitor." While it didn't set well with her to use her position to acquire respect, she well knew it wouldn't be the last time she would do this due to her chosen path. Her whole life she would use her title to further herself in the eyes of others. _I might as well become accustomed to it now. This is my future._

"Ah! Yes, that's it. The papers are always talking about you and the Marquis. I haven't had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the gentleman but I had heard he is an affluent man. Relative of the Comte de Chagny, if I am not much mistaken.

"Not relative. He was a friend of the late Comte. They're families were quite close." Candela corrected before returning to the subject at hand. "About the management position, I was curious as to why the two of you were turning it over to someone else."

"Well, you see… um…uh…well…" Firmin muttered, looking down at the floor, faltering as he tried to answer her question.

"To be honest, it's all the Phantom's fault!" Candela's eyebrows visibly raised in shock.

"I thought the Phantom's leaving would have been a matter of rejoicing. Am I mistaken?"

"No, if you're referring to the first few months. We all thought it was wonderful." Firmin chimed in as he looked up at her through tired eyes. "It was the best thing ever, until the Opera began to fall apart. The ballet was awful. The cast wouldn't behave." She was fairly confident that she heard a muttered "artists" from Andre but chose to ignore it as Firmin continued on, "Apparently, the stage workers only had respect for the Phantom and not for the stage manager. Once he was gone, they started acting quite unruly. In short, the Paris Opera has become a laughing stock."

"I attended a performance here a month or so ago and I thought it was nice." Candela put in, trying to be kind.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but you're not the critics." Andre added before saying, "We found as many of the notes as Monsieurs Poligny and Debienne had left us but even they fail when the company has no incentive to keep everything to the level of perfection that was before."

"In short, we had no other choice but the turn it over to someone new. The phantom is dead and we are regretting ever disobeying him."

After vacillating a few times between telling or not telling, Candela quietly spoke up with a suggestion,

"What if the Opera Ghost was still alive?" Both men stared at her for several moments before laughing again.

"He can't be! The Ghost lived to critique our work. He wouldn't disappear for a year without a single word. Not after watching his beloved Opera House fall into such a state."

"Even the most devoted of men can lose their will to continue. He lost the Comtesse de Chagny and that would be a blow to any man. But, let us be hypothetical for a moment. What if he were to be a live and still willing to bring the Opera back into proper shape? You would listen to him, gladly? You would give him his salary as he was used to and the proper respect a king should have in his kingdom?"

"More than gladly! Joyously! The Opera is a good living, far better than scrap metal. What is twenty thousand francs a month when we could make millions!" Firmin happily explained. "If only it were true!"

Licking her lips slowly, Candela decided to bring them into her confidence, believing these men were trustworthy and perhaps, had learned their lesson from a year's worth of troubles. If her theory worked, Erik would be more inclined to agree. She wouldn't have to worry about him when she left.

"Monsieurs, anything I say from now until the moment I leave, isn't to leave this room, let alone get out to the newspapers. Am I understood? Do you as gentleman promise on your mothers' souls that you won't betray me?"

Both hesitated for a split second before nodding simultaneously.

"Your words shall not be carried from this room in anyway at all."

"Excellent." Taking a deep breath, Candela plunged, "The Phantom of the Opera is quite alive. I have the pleasure of being acquainted with him for some time." Not stopping to pay any attention to their aghast facial expressions, she continued, "When I saw the notice in the paper, I tried to convince him to take over as manager but he refused, not doubt because of a lack of desire to show his face around Paris. And, for good reason. Now, if he could retake the mantel of his former persona and you two were to remain as faces to the Opera, perhaps it could be saved?"

For several moments, she worried that she might have given the two middle-aged gentleman heart attacks and they had passed away before her very eyes. Several minutes had passed before Andre spoke up,

"If you would speak to him, we would be forever in your debt, Mademoiselle. He will be welcomed back into the Opera House with open arms by us." Sincerity was plastered all over his face and written his eyes, leaving Candela with a comfortable feeling in the pits of her stomach.

"I shall speak with him." Gathering her reticule, she rose to her feet and stepped towards the door. "Remember, gentleman, not a word to anyone. We both has reputations to keep up." Leaving them with a cool smile and budding hope, she breezed from the room, retracing her steps back to the doors of the Opera and around the corner to the hidden door.

After sliding inside and clicking it closed, she lit the lantern and walked down into the bowels of the Opera cellars, a knot of nervousness growing slowly.

The Phantom wouldn't be too happy about her comments to the managers, men whom he still disliked. While she never feared his temper, she loathed to cause the fiery outbursts. A man of his age and health couldn't afford too many of them to her way of thinking and she didn't wish the Phantom to leave the world any time soon.

Arriving at the wharf, she untied the gondola and picked up the pole. Stepping into the boat, she watched the ripples flow away from the keel into her inky surroundings. Chuckling quietly to herself, she dipped the pole into the lake and pushed hard against the gravel bottom, propelling herself speedily across the lake.

Upon reaching the other side and tying up the gondola, she hurried into the house, shedding her cloak and reticule before knocking on Erik's door.

"Señor Phantom? Are you there? I need to speak with you." Listening carefully, she heard the light scrap of the organ bench scooting backwards and the almost silent tap of dress shoes against stone floors. The door opened and the Phantom peered down at her.

He appeared calm and relaxed, even, if she dared think such a thing, in a good mood!

What an excellent time to inform him of her errand.

Putting on her pleasantest smile, Candela stepped back and said,

"Good afternoon. Do you have a moment to talk, Señor?" The Phantom nodded and stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him.

"Yes, Erik does. His compositions aren't going well so a break would be agreeable." Following her into the sitting room, Erik took a seat in his chair and watched his little Spanish maid scuttling around, fixing a pot of Russian tea for them before their "talk". Perhaps he should have been more concerned about her desire for him to be comfortable before they had the conversation she had in mind, but the thought didn't cross his mind as he admired her.

She was a fascinating little thing.

When the last teacup was in place and the last drop of tea poured and properly flavored, Candela settled onto the settee and stirred her tea.

"Señor Phantom, remember yesterday when I asked if you would be willing to become the manager of the Opera House?" The distinct frown that immediately crossed his face was a sufficient answer so she continued, "Well, I spoke with Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin about the position and I learned why they are giving it up."

"Why?" Erik demanded, a touch curious as to their reasons for leaving. He would have thought that his absence would have encouraged them to stay for more than driving them away.

"As it turns out, the Opera House has been going down steadily since your departure last year. Apparently, an Opera House is nothing without its Phantom."

"Erik warned those fools what would happen if they didn't take his advice!" Erik snarled, tossing his free hand into the air with a groan. Those managers had never been the brightest parts of his Opera House.

"No! Señor, it isn't that they didn't take your advice." Candela quickly corrected. "It was that you weren't there to enforce it."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Candela."

"All the respect and fear in the Opera House was directed towards you, as the Phantom of the Opera, and none to the managers. When you left, there was no one there with any authority." After pausing for a sip of her tea and to gauge the Phantom's response to her statement, Candela decided to inform him of the steps she had taken.

"I inquired if they would give you the respect you demanded if you were to return, and they said they would. They even promised your salary back, all twenty thousand francs of it." Gold eyes peered out at her from behind the porcelain and she swallowed.

"I told them you were still alive and that I would ask if you would return. Will you, Señor? Wouldn't it be nice? You'd be everything you were back during your zenith." Hopefully, she glanced upward at him, reading only in his expression dull anger.

"You told them I was still alive?" He carefully kept his wrath under control and Candela relaxed. this she could handle.

"Yes, I did." A bold lilt entered her voice as she lifted her chin. "I did tell them. Now, will you accept their offer or continue to wallow here in self-pity and loneliness? This is no life for a genius like yourself. You should be up there, teaching those annoying mortals exactly what they're missing. What good is knowledge if it isn't shared?"

"You betrayed Erik." He muttered, appearing to ignore her comments.

"For you own good. You can't languish down here forever."

"What if Erik wants to?" He snapped, rising to his feet and trying to gain dominance with his sheer height. Candela brushed it off, now used to his tactics.

"You don't want to. You're just afraid of going back up there. You're the Phantom of the Opera; it is about time you got off your derriere and did something. A year long holiday is more than enough." Standing as well, she tossed a lock of black hair behind her shoulder and walked up to him, challenging him to defy her.

"You're a fool!" Erik snapped as he stormed from the room, the stings of betrayal still biting his heart. Retreating to his room, he banged away his emotions onto the organ, the monstrosity having never failed him before.

After several hours, he paused, glancing at his fingers, several cracked and one oozing blood.

Now with a clear head, he had to put some credence in his maid's comments. She was right. He was afraid to go back up, to return to the world of men and expose his ideas for all to see. But, then, he reasoned, he had lost his heart and nearly his life before. What could mortals throw at him that was any worse?

It would be so nice to return to the persona he had shed a year ago.

The more he thought about it, the more he warmed to it to the point where a hideous cackle came from him.

He would scare the ballet rats again.

He would reign in his kingdom once more.

The Phantom of the Opera would come back…to stay.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

"Thank you, Señor. This was a lovely lunch." Candela said as she lifted her napkin from her lap and laid it next to the plate after wiping the edges of her mouth.

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Are you ready? I shouldn't like to be late for my appointment with your uncle. I am afraid tardiness wouldn't leave a good first impression." Despite having lived two scores on the earth, the Marquis found himself feeling like a nervous youth.

A good impression was imperative.

The maid giggled and stood up, scraping the chair against the marble floor.

"You have a point there. It would hardly commend you in his eyes." A happy smile teased at the corners of her eyes as the Marquis disappeared for a moment to pay for the meal. Smoothing the silk of her lavender gown, Candela calmed her nerves and convinced herself to ignore the feelings of unease about the finality of his consulting her uncle.

Their relationship would be considered a proper courtship in the eyes of everyone. To break it would require some great breach of promise or etiquette. In a year, he would propose, in two, she would be a married woman, a Marqesse.

Candela Valentina, the Marquesse de Bonnaire. It did sound nice even if it was lengthy.

"Ready, Candela?" He asked as he took on of her gloved hands in both of his.

"Yes, I'm ready." Giving him a kindly smile, she followed him out of the small café and up to the cab that was waiting for them. After helping her into the carriage, the Marquis boarded and gave directions to the cabby before settling back and tapping his fingers against the silver top of his cane.

"You said your uncle's name is Nadir Khan, correct?" Candela nodded. "And, he's Persian?"

"Yes. You see, my mother had a sister who eloped with a sea captain. When he died in Persia, my aunt was left all alone and met Uncle Nadir. They were married and when things became too uncomfortable for my uncle, they moved back to Spain. My aunt died a few years before my mother and, once they both had passed, Uncle Nadir decided to bring me here to Paris." The statement was one of her larger deceptions but she considered it a necessity. Besides, wasn't it just a little close to the truth? Nadir had left Persia when things had become too dangerous for him. He just hadn't been married to her non-existent aunt.

"I see." Jules remarked, tossing the ideas around in his head. His bride of choice certainly had an unusual family. No father, a dead mother, and living with an uncle. But, he considered it was quite befitting of the odd girl that was Candela de la Vega. If her family had been normal, it would have been at odds with her peculiar personality.

"He's crotchety but I think you'll like him once you get to know him."

"I hope you're correct. After all, I hope to court and marry his niece." Grasping her hand, he lightly kissed the back of it and smiled up at her. The Spaniard giggled quietly and lightly touched the palm of her hand against his cheek.

"That is very sweet." He opened his mouth to respond to her but the carriage rolled to a stop before he could speak another word to her. Giving her hand one last kiss, he stepped out of the cab and helped her down the steps. After paying the cabby, the Marquis and Candela walked up the pair of steps to the door of the flat.

Sliding a key into the lock, Candela turned the knob and stepped into the dimly lit hallway.

"Darius!" She called out, as she closed the door behind the Marquis and shed her cloak onto the coat rack. Moments later, the Persian servant appeared and gave her a kindly smile as he helped the Marquis out of his coat and hat.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle! I trust you had a lovely outing?" He inquired, hoping his actions came across as relaxed and that the lone week of practicing familiarity between them had been successful.

"Yes, I did. Thank you, Darius. Where is my uncle?"

"In his study. Shall I bring in tea?"

"Yes, please. Señor, if you would follow me?" She said, gesturing for the Marquis to walk with her. glancing behind her before she mounted the steps, Candela noticed the awe with which her suitor was gazing at the various artwork and décor on the walls.

"Do you like the decorations?" She inquired as they walked up the stairs.

"Yes, they're very beautiful. Your uncle must still love his homeland very much."

"He does." She remarked as they traipsed down a hall to a single door. Hiding a trembling hand inside the folds of her skirt, she lightly knocked on the and a voice answered her,

"Come in." A hesitant smile later, she opened the door and stepped through, the Marquis following her as he hid his shaking fingers behind his back.

Nadir glanced up from his work and forced himself to not give the typical smile he gave everyone. He must play Erik. And, goodness knows he could play that role well. Thirty years of acquaintance was enough to learn something of a person's habits.

"Uncle Nadir, this is Nicolas Jules, the Marquis de Bonnaire. Jules, my uncle Nadir. Now, if you gentleman will excuse me, I will be about the house." With a smile, a nod of the head, and a short curtsy, Candela abandoned the scene to Nadir and quickly left the room, scampering her way to the kitchen to help Darius with the tea.

 **E-OC**

"So, tell me a little about yourself." Nadir said as he leaned back in his chair and loosely crossed his arms. His knowledge of the Marquis was far more extensive then he would let on then. Years of practice as an investigator had served him well during the past week.

"What would you like to know?" The nobleman replied, extending a smile towards the Persian gentleman.

"Your family, your relationship history. I want to know who I'm letting court my niece."

"I have no real relatives. I came from a small family and my parents have been dead for many years. I one cousin and her son, who are going to becoming to stay with me for the duration of the winter. She married an English Duke when she was quite young. He has passed away, leaving her a widow with a large fortune. I was married once to a weak-willed woman of dubious reputation who I was forced to divorce out of expediency to both of us."

"Why?" Nadir questioned, frowning at the sound of divorce in the Marquis's history. In all his experiences, divorces were nasty things that left must trouble later in life, especially involving wills and money. While Candela might not have thought of it, he certainly thought and now worried over it.

"She found another man's attentions more pleasing than mine. It was her who made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with me and I released her for her vows. I haven't the slightest idea where she is now. I haven't seen her since the day she packed her things and left with her lover."

Relieved of that concern, Nadir stared up at the ceiling for moment, tossing questions around in his head. Having never had a daughter, he couldn't draw on former knowledge of how to determine is someone was a worthwhile match. At last, he settled on the best question he could think of,

"Do you love Candela?"

Without a single hint of dishonesty, the Marquis locked eyes with Nadir and solemnly replied,

"Yes."

 **E-OC**

"Duchess, we have arrived." Her coachman said as he opened the door and unfolded the steps.

"Excellent." The lady from within replied as she stepped out onto the stairs and down to the gravel drive of the town house. The latest of fashionable footwear was laced to her feet, almost completely concealed by warm gray yards of expensive fabric forming the shirt of her dress and leading up to a bodice unencumbered by a corset.

Thick locks of fiery red hair tumbled over her bosom, and, completing the entire ensemble, a face echoing spirit and vitality even through tired expressions and weary eyes.

"Duchess, your cloak. It's quite cold out here." Her lady's maid draped the heavy material over her lady's shoulders only to have her shrug the item off.

"Don't worry about it, Mary. I shall enjoy the nip of the cold. The carriage was getting a bit stuffy."

"I don't want to you catch cold, Madam."

"I'll be quite all right. Keep it close for me though, will you?" The dark English girl bobbed her head and draped the cloak over her arm, determining never to stray a moment from her lady's side should she end up needing something to block the cold.

"Where is everyone, Madam? I thought they were expecting us?"

"We are supposed to arrive tomorrow, Mary. But, I doubt my cousin will mind too much." Smoothing a portion of her dress, she grinned at the clattering of hooves behind her accompanied quickly by the squeals of her young son.

"Mother! Mother! We're here!" He flung his arms around her waist, knocking her off balance for a moment. After a short chuckle, she tightened her hold on him before pulling away.

"Yes, we are. And you must be on your best behavior. If you do so, maybe Jules will teach you how to fence." Wetting a finger, she brushed a couple strands of hair out his face.

"Yuck! Mother!" He pulled away and wiped at his hair. The red-headed woman laughed and grasped he hand, tugging him along with her as she walked towards the front doors. The coachman quickly stepped ahead of her and knocked with the brass knocker. Several moments passed before the butler opened the door and said, in rapid-fire French,

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?" Reine, after hesitating for a moment as her mind retraced old, well-worn patterns in her brain, formed a clear French sentence.

"Good afternoon. I am the Duchess of Albans. I'm here to see my cousin, the Marquis. I believe we are expected tomorrow." A playful smile teased at her lips as the butler gasped and quickly bounded back from the door, gesturing for them to come in quickly.

"Forgive me, Madame! Forgive me! It's just me, the two maids and the cook here. The rest of the servants left with our master and mistress on their trip to Italy." Reine chuckled and quickly stepped in, releasing her son's hand and letting him wander a bit in the hallway.

"Think nothing of it. I understand. Mary, John, go bring in our things." After shooing the pair out the door, she turned towards the butler and grinned. "John was a footman before he became my coachman so he will be more than willing to aid you with keeping your house in running order. I have brought my own lady's maid so you needn't spare a kitchen maid."

The butler grinned before returning to his slightly more somber self.

"Thank you, Madame. Does he speak French?"

"Enough. What he doesn't know, he will learn. He is a quick study. Now, if you will please show me to my room?"

"Of course, Madame." The butler bowed slightly to her and snapped his fingers to a girl cowering in the corner, staring in awe at the lady before her.

"Celeste, help the Duchess's servants with the baggage." Nodding, the tiny girl darted away, so tiny in comparison to Mary who a thin-boned as it was.

"She is so small." Reine remarked as she watched the girl.

"Yes, she is four months off the streets. We were forced to dismiss a maid when the Comte died and soon after, several others found better positions. The new Comte wished to continue with his brother's tradition and found an honest girl off the streets. She is a hard worker and will go far in the world of servants. This way, Madame." He gestured for her to follow and, after calling her son back to her side, she trailed behind him, admiring the house.

"Might I ask why you dismissed her?" Reine inquired, hoping to make passible conversation between her and the butler.

"At that time, we had too many servants and not enough work for her. She worked hard but we couldn't keep her. I was sad to see that Spaniard go." He gave the Duchess a tight smile before opening a door for her. "This is your bedroom, Madame. Your son's is right next door. The Marquis informed us that you would like to have him close."

"He informed you well. Thank you." Turning to her coachman, she said,

"John, please help the Butler with anything he needs. Marry and I will make sure mine and William's room is in order." The proper British servant nodded sharply and turned to address, in broken French, his temporary supervisor.

"I am at your service, Sir." The Duchess grinned and vanished into her room, followed by her maid hoisting the several pieces of luggage she had brought along with her.

 **E-OC**

The tea kettle whistled and Darius pulled it off the stove and poured each of them a cup before filling a tea pot.

"Want any sugar or cream?" Candela nodded quietly and took several lumps of sugar.

"Are you all right, Mademoiselle? You don't look like a happy bride." Forcing herself to smile, she sat up a little straighter and squared her shoulders.

"I'm fine." Darius gathered up the tray and, as he started for the door, he paused.

"You're not fine. Tell me. What's wrong? I thought girls were happy? I thought you were fond of this Marquis." Her hesitation told the Persian servant all he needed to know. "You gather your thoughts. I'll be back in a moment." After giving her a kindly smile, he disappeared towards the study, leaving her to think through it all.

Again, her stomach churned, her gut frowning on the steps she was taking to further herself. Darius had told her to gather her thoughts…but she didn't know what those were anymore. When her mind blanked on her, she gave up on thinking and simply contented herself with sipping her tea and enjoying the heat the stove.

Ten minute later, Darius returned and refilled her cup, handing her the sugar bowl.

"Are your thoughts still running wild?" He inquired, gently pressing the subject. Despite having very little contact with Nadir's servant, Candela decided he was a good enough confidant. Slumping in her chair and dropping the faux smile, she said,

"I guess I'm still not at ease with where this is all going. I have been telling myself that this is for the best. This will further my future in the world. I don't want to be a servant for the rest of my life." Darius was quiet for a moment before he said,

"In Persia, I saw many girls who married to further themselves. Lower noblewomen would commonly marry high nobles so they might have wealth and position. Love almost never was considered. They were considered fortunate if they tolerated each other.

"But, Mademoiselle, I have never seen women whose eyes were so dead as those women. They pretended to love the life they were living but their dreams never came true. But then, I remember a little servant girl in my master's house. She married the stable boy. They were very much in love, two very lucky people. They were poor servants but she was so very happy. Her eyes were bright and there was never a frown on her face."

At Candela's confused face, he clarified his meaning,

"Grasping at sunbeams doesn't always give one's life light. Now, if you'll pardon me, Mademoiselle, I must go to the market for dinner." Rising to his feet, Darius bowed low to the girl and disappeared from the kitchen once more, leaving Candela again alone with her cup of tea.

 **E-OC**

"Congratulation, Monsieur. I see no problem with you courting my niece." Nadir rose to his feet and extended a hand to the middle-aged Marquis who reminded him a great deal of a youth with the light currently burning in his eyes.

"Thank-you, Monsieur Khan! Thank you." Jules shook the Persian's hand firmly and tried to school his face into a calmer expression, only to fail miserably. "May I go see her right now and tell her the good news?"

"Of course. I believe she will probably be in the kitchen. It's the warmest place in the house these days." Allowing himself to break character, Nadir gave the Marquis a hearty smile before guiding him towards the kitchen, a tiny room tucked in the farthest corner of the house.

As they entered the doorway, the Marquis's face turned tender at seeing his Spanish lady sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hands and a frown tugging at her lips.

"No need to be sad, my dear!" He exclaimed, surprising the girl when he stepped towards her. "Your uncle has agreed to allow me to court you!" To get down on her level, he dropped to one knee and grasped her hand. "Isn't this wonderful?"

Candela immediately forced a completely excited aspect on her face. _This is good news,_ she told herself. _Very good news_.

"Yes! This is wonderful!" Boldly, she slipped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a gentle hug, wondering what it might feel like to embrace a man.

She drew back a disappointed woman.

"Shall we go out to dinner to celebrate?" The years peeled off the Marquis's face with every passing moment; he reminded her now much more of a youth then ever before. it pained her to take away that excitement but the Phantom would be wanting her home and she didn't want to risk his missing her again.

"I'm sorry. I can't. Not tonight. Maybe we can another night?" The age returned to his face but there was still that sparkle haunting the depths of his eyes.

"Of course, I understand. I will bid you adieu then. My cousin in coming tomorrow and I must be sure the house is ready for her."

"Yes, do go. I will see you again soon. Good day." Nadir showed him away from the kitchen and returned several moments later, his frown echoing hers.

After several moments of silence between the, he said,

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Candela glanced upward at him and shook her head.

"No, I'm not."

"Good." He turned to leave but paused. Turning back to face her, he said, "Don't break his heart. He loves you." Completely unaware of how his words tore at her heart, he left the Spanish maid to finish her tea flavored with confused tears.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

As weary as she might be, Candela pulled herself together and washed out the teacup. No matter how mentally exhausted she might be, she had no excuse for leaving more dishes for Darius to wash whenever he returned from the market.

Watching the remainders of the tepid tea flow into the soapy water, Candela muttered to herself,

"Unravel your thoughts, mad girl. Be rid of your doubts. This is for the best." Closing her eyes, the Spanish maid took several deep breaths and returned the cup to the cupboard, pleased to find her mind more at peace then before.

Her compass had been set.

"I shall be Candela Valentina, the Marquesse de Bonnaire. It is so pretty." After straightening her skirts and confirming her hair and expression were once more to her pleasure, she slinked from the kitchen and on her way to the front door, easily evaded the hearing and sight of Nadir, still hold up in his study.

A few sidewalk scurries and a scamper across a busy thoroughfare, Candela found herself standing, in the fading light of the Paris afternoon sun, before the Opera House once more. A week had passed since she had promised the managers to speak to the Opera Ghost.

Perhaps she shouldn't have gotten so engrossed in securing her own future.

Putting any concerns or reservations aside, she straightened her shoulders and marched once more into the foyer of the Opera House, ignoring the gilded finery. Once more she was met by the same blond ballerina, a Ms. Giry if the Spaniard remembered correctly, and was escorted a second time to the office of the managers.

After a brief thank you to the helpful girl, Candela lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in!" She heard and recognized the voice as Firmin. Clicking open the door, she entered.

"Good afternoon, gentleman. I hope I'm not disturbing you from anything important." A glance between the two men confirmed she was not. A light that had been absent until her departure on her first visit, still glowed in both of their eyes, burning brighter with hope at her reappearing.

"Mademoiselle! Did you speak the Phantom?" Nodding, she took the proffered seat and folded her gloved hand in her lap.

"Yes, I did speak with him. If you keep to your promise of upholding the conditions stated in the contract you signed when you initially became the managers, he will resume his former position as the Opera Ghost. I was hoping perhaps we could schedule a meeting? Perhaps sometime tomorrow or the next?"

Both managers glanced at each other and Andre stepped away to consult their appointment book before he spoke up,

"Ten o'clock tomorrow would be wonderful. In this office?" He offered.

"Very well. It is understood that no one save for yourself, me, and the Phantom shall be present?"

"Of course, Mademoiselle. It would not be helpful to either of our positions in society for anyone else to be aware of our connect with that entity." An agreeing grin was sufficient communication between the three of them as Candela saw herself out of the office.

 **E-OC**

"Señor Phantom!" Candela called out as she entered the house by the lake and hung up her coat and gloves. After bending down to stoke the fire to remove the chill from the air, she continued into the dining room and hallway, in search of the ghost. Determining those rooms empty of the man, she raised her hand to knock on his door when it opened unexpectedly.

"You called, Candela?" He inquired, leaning against the doorway and balancing once hand on a lean hip. Straightening her shoulders, she folded her hands behind her back and rocked on the balls of her feet.

"I did. On my way home from Nadir's, I spoke with the managers of your Opera House. We have a meeting with them tomorrow at ten in their office. I trust you have no other engagements?" Her dark eyes teasingly twinkled and the Phantom answered back, equally sarcastic,

"Erik shall have to consult his appointment book. He leads a busy life, you know."

"Of course, you are. If you should find yourself busy, you will find your errant girl in the kitchen, making supper." With a passing smirk, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and marched away to the kitchen to fix the pair of them something to eat. Her absence since breakfast time guaranteed he had missed lunch.

If Candela did anything before she wed the Marquis, she would make sure that the ghost ate regularly.

 **E-OC**

As she pattered away from his door, Erik found his eyes drifting along the edges of her lavender dress, analyzing her form more thoroughly than he should. Properly embarrassed and blushing beneath the mask, he quickly slammed the door and returned to his organ.

She was no prettier than a hundred other Parisian or Spanish girls who roamed the countryside and served in the houses of others.

Her figure, more buxom than Christine's, was hardly any different than any other girls', he convinced himself. But, as he studied the ivory keys with their well-warn hallows after years of playing, he considered whether her beauty and attraction stemmed from what lay behind the dresses and layers of skin.

She did have a good heart.

"She is kinder than Christine." He thought out loud before resuming his playing. A year of solitude had surely made him go mad. It would do him well to get out of the small house by the lake and distract himself with the thoughts of his opera.

The one love that wouldn't betray him.

 **E-OC**

"Are you ready, Mademoiselle?" Erik inquired as he straightened his suit jacket, almost smiling behind the full-face mask at Candela's fussing over her hair. It seemed to him a typical female tendency to fret over their hair despite his lack of understanding on that subject. There were advantages, he found, to only having a few locks of stringy hair on one's head. A quick brush and all problems were solved.

"No. My hair won't cooperate." The maid remarked as she tried to affix a lock of hair against her head. "If only I had a comb or something. Today of all days it would fail me!" With a sigh of resignation and exasperation, Candela turned to pick up her reticule when a flash of silver caught her eyes. Turning away from the mirror, she stared at Erik, holding out a trembling gloved hand with a silver comb nested inside the black material.

"Señor Phantom…" She whispered, knitting her eyebrows together. "What is this?"

"A comb. Here, take it." Grasping her hand firmly in his, he pressed the silver piece into her hands. "Take it. Wear it." Clasping his hands behind his back, he forced any emotion from his voice. It was Christine's comb. A gift he might have given her if she had remained as his bride, living or dead. Yet, she had chosen a Vicomte. He could give her prettier gifts than a simple silver ribbon comb.

No sense in the item going to waste, hidden in his room.

Besides, it did look so pretty set against her dark hair.

Candela's bottom lip quivered as she carefully set the piece into her hair, admiring the way the silver glittered in her dark hair. She didn't dare ask who it was from or why he had given it to her. while the answer to the first question was clear, the second didn't desire addressing.

Turning to face the Phantom, she took one of his hands in hers, boldly locking eyes with him as she said,

"Thank you. I appreciate this." Her hands were small, Erik concluded as they grasped his elongated fingers. Or, perhaps just small by comparison.

"You're welcome." He replied, gently pulling away from her touch, unsure about his loss of equilibrium from her near proximity to himself. "Shall we leave now?"

"Yes, we shall." She replied curtly as they breezed through the door and towards the boat, moored at the dock awaiting them.

 **E-OC**

Pausing in the dark passageway, the Phantom turned to Candela, his eyes easily seeing her in the pitch darkness while hers strained and failed to find any light to order herself by. Her hand clutched his in a slight panic. Darkness, while having never minded it too much, wasn't a favorite of hers. Not when the steady drip-drip of water and the scurrying of rats filled her ears.

"Where are we?" She whispered.

"Behind the wall of the managers' office. How do you think Erik managed to be the Opera Ghost?" A light slap on the shoulder set his joking tone aside.

"I know how. I just wanted to know where." She muttered as the Phantom peered through a tiny peephole.

"They're gone. I will open the door and let you in. Tell them that you got here early and that you hope they don't mind your waiting for them." Slamming the peephole shut, Candela heard his hand sliding around the passage until a wide swath opened, light pouring through and blinding the Spaniard for a moment.

"Some warning would have been nice." She muttered, stepping into the brilliantly lit office and finding a chair to set in while she waited for her eyes to adjust.

"Women are so difficult to please." Erik remarked before closing the sliding panel.

Candela resisted the desire to stick her tongue out in his general direction. She was a lady. Ladies didn't do that, no matter how tempting the thought was or how frustrating the would-be receiver was acting.

Fortunately for the pair, the managers weren't too late and, within ten minutes of the Phantom's arrival, they hurried through the door.

"Forgive us, Mademoiselle! We were held up. Is Monsieur Opera Ghost here?" They cast their gaze around in the room, straining to see if the Phantom was visible. Candela found it quite comedic.

"I am here, Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre." The sheer beauty and resonance of that voice stole her breath right from her lungs, leaving her quietly gasping. No wonder the Comtesse had believed he was an angel. Erik, the man who lived five cellars below, had been banished, and the Phantom, the omnipotent being of Opera lore, had eclipsed.

Candela found she approved highly of the alteration.

"Monsieur Phantom!" Andre called out, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. "Where are you? I had hoped we might be able to have a… face-to-face conversation. If you wouldn't mind, that is? We have some papers for you to sigh involving contracts and so forth…" He trailed of, tugging at his mustache, a habit he had adopted during the past few months of misery.

Behind the wall and peering through the peephole, Erik pondered the manager's request. In previous years, he had simple been an amorphic individual, speaking through walls. The former managers knew he had existed but couldn't pin an appearance on him.

Though, now he thought about it more, it would make good sense for him to be on face-to-face terms with the managers. They would work together more than they had in the past. With that change would come others.

Setting his jaw and bracing himself, he pressed the button and soundlessly stepped out of the walls, almost grinning at the stunned faces of the managers. His eyes flickered to Candela and hesitated to move. Dark orbs locked on him, she sat perfectly still, her mouth slightly ajar.

"Monsieur Phantom!" Firmin exclaimed, the first of the pair to recover from the shock of watching their ghost step from a wall. "I am honored to officially meet you." Bowing a couple of times, he offered his hand to the ghost, imperiously standing near his escape route.

"I wish I might add that the pleasure is mine." Neither of the men seemed to care that the Phantom of the Opera had just insulted them and produced papers galore.

"Shall we talk business?" A sharp nod from Erik and they retreated over to the farthest desk, leaving Candela with only the barest idea of their conversation. Instead, she was left with the studying of them. She wouldn't lie that she had been entranced when the Ghost had stepped from the wall. By now, she had thought she was accustomed to his theatrical ways and odd quirks of habit.

Apparently not.

Even now, watching him sitting on the edge of a desk, reading through a business contract, her breath caught. Built up of sharper angles, he contrasted well against the pudgy managers. As her first time seeing him interacting with humans other than Nadir (hardly a ordinary person in his own right), Candela found herself struck at his physical oddities, shining so brilliantly against normality, which she had ceased to notice long ago.

 _He is so unlike the Marquis. I like it._

Her own thoughts confounded her and, as they made her squirm in her seat, she preferred to turn her mind to more neutral things. Such as a shopping list that must be completed before the evening ended.

 **E-OC**

Scratching the final loop of his name into the parchment of the contract, Erik set the pen aside and handed the paper to the managers.

"I believe we have a deal, gentleman." The pair scanned his signature and grinned.

"Thank you, Monsieur! Thank you! When can you begin? I beg of you, please let it be soon." After spending a moment tugging on the cuffs of his gloves, Erik said,

"The new Opera season won't begin until next year. We shall begin work next week on a new Opera, give everyone a long Christmas vacation and resume work the first of January. You will announce that to the public. The second or third week, we shall have a grand, reopening party before and after the Opera I choose. You shall plan."

Folding his hands behind his back, Erik paced before the desk, rattling off several other orders to the enraptured managers. Only when he paused and demanded verbal acknowledgement, did they unfreeze and jump right to work.

Pleased with their actions, Erik turned to see Candela scribbling away on a piece of paper, concentrating no doubt on a list of some sort.

"Candela." He called out, drawing her attention to him. "Are you ready to leave? I believe my business here is done."

"Everything signed, Señor Phantom?" She inquired, tucking the paper and pencil into her reticule.

"Yes, signed, sealed, and agreed upon. Shall we go home?" Shaking her head, the girl took a couple steps towards the door of the office.

"I have a lunch date with the Marquis and then a few errands to run. I should be home by supper. Have a good day." Dropping a curtsy to all three of the gentleman, she spirited away, leaving Erik to disappear through his wall.

 **E-OC**

Plodding carefully through the damp halls, Nadir made his way through the labyrinthine cellars. The day had been quiet and boring, and, as it was nearing teatime, he decided to make himself a nuisance at his friend's house. If anything, there would be find conversation with the Spanish maid, should Erik turn uncivil and refuse to share a room with him.

For the most part, Nadir considered himself a modest man with few talents but when it came to his friend, he considered himself far more patient that most. Twenty years of enduring harsh words and hushed, if nonverbal, apologies, only bestowed when he was fortunate, had increased his patience far more than he could have ever wished for.

As the boat landed on the opposite shore, he sprang from the vessel, reminding himself later to not try that trick again, concluding youth hadn't remained with him as he had once hoped. Holding the flickering lantern aloft, he peered at the black wall he faced and pressed in several places, pleased when he saw the door open and bath him in a soft light. After blowing out the light and setting it aside, he stepped into the house, careful not to track much from the shores onto the fine Persian rugs.

The silence disturbed him.

Usually, Candela fluttered about the house, possibly humming or muttering to herself and clicking pans or knitting needles together. If nothing else, there were always footsteps pattering about the house. Except, now, not a sound broke the stillness of the empty house.

Not even Erik on his organ could be heard.

Once his coat and hat had been shed and deposited onto the hat rack, he followed his intuition and traipsed from the sitting room into the kitchen. Upon stepping through the doorway, Nadir frowned, slightly pleased with discovering Erik's location but hardly encouraged by the expression plastered over his unmasked face.

A year had passed since such a look of dejection crossed the cadaverous features.

"Erik. Good afternoon." He announced himself and then sat opposite his 'friend'. The bolt that passed through the Phantom's limbs concerned him even more. No one had slipped up on Erik.

"What are you doing here?" Erik muttered, glancing up at the dark face peering across at him.

"I'm a retired gentleman. I live my life to drop in for tea."

"This is the first time in four months." His masked companion remarked dryly.

"Even I can be busy on occasion. Where is Candela?" After pouring himself a cup of tea and adding several scoops of sugar to make the Russian beverage bearable, he glanced up, frowning at the flash of discomfort across the bare face.

"She's out with her young man. A lunch date to celebrate his courting her, no doubt."

"Ah, yes, the good Marquis." Nadir grinned, the connects not forming between Erik's expression and Candela's absence. "He will be very good for her. A pleasantly large fortune attached to a good man. They will do well together. No one will really care about the twenty-five years or so between them. She will be content. He loves her, you know." A weary nod greeted Nadir's eyes.

"It would take a heartless man not to love her." The words of response were formed on his tongue while he refilled his cup of tea when Erik's tone and subconscious body language struck him. A notable skip cut his response yet, Erik, typical of himself, paid no attention.

"Yes, I…I would suppose it would take a callous man to ignore such sweetness and peculiarity." Taking a longer than necessary sip to calm his quickly panicking his brain, he forced his next words to remain utterly calm, "What do you think of her being courted?"

His quick response did little to assuage Nadir's sick stomach,

"I'm sure it's very good for her."

"I didn't inquire as to your thoughts on its benefits to her. I wish to know what the Phantom of the Opera thinks about his housekeeper marrying."

"Erik is happy for her." Nadir, ever the policeman, was quick to spot the emotional lack in his tone. "You said he loves her, no? He will want to marry her as soon as possible. She will accept of course because she would insane not to. They will marry and she will be in a white wedding dress." While his eyes focused on Nadir, his mind was far away. "They will have children together and she will be happy. Because she will be happy, Erik shall be happy even though he will never see her again."

"Why would you never see her again?"

"The Marquis knows nothing of her past or my existence therein. How could she explain vanishing periodically to see a strange man? Her name would already be tainted by not coming or noble stock. She wouldn't dare tarnish it any further by consorting with me again."

For the entirety of Candela's relationship with the Marquis, Nadir had always supported her, never doubting for a moment that it was wisest for all involved. It had never crossed his mind that Erik might have grown fond of the girl, even, God forbid, fallen in love with her. there had never been a question in his mind that Erik still loved Christine and would love her until his dying day.

Until now, he hadn't seen any room in his heart for someone else.

"Erik, do you care for Candela?" The bare-faced Phantom glanced up, bewilderment spreading across horrific features.

"Of course, I care for her. She is a pleasant enough companion and has even seen to my welfare before her own. I care for her. Erik is not so cold as to not understand the barest of kindnesses." _So, he will not admit to himself._ Surely he would regret this but Nadir's next words fled his mouth before he could check them,

"Erik, forgive me, but do you love her?" The agony written in yellowed lines struck him square in the chest.

"I cannot!" Erik cried out, rising to his feet in pain-driven anger. "I cannot love her!" Then, more quickly to himself, "I mustn't love her. I love Christine. I must." Words Nadir believed to have been echoed many times through the past year as he lived around the Spaniard.

"Get out! Get out of my house!" The Phantom roared, slamming his tea cup against the table and shattering it into a million pieces, several nicking Nadir as the scattered. Despite the awful revelations of the evening, Nadir knew well when he should retreat.

A quick good-bye later and the Persian gentleman was scurrying home to his warm fireside, his friend's words still echoing,

"I love Christine. I must."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

As he plodded home through the bustling streets of Paris, thick with grime, Nadir pondered again on the odd pair living beneath the Opera House. Mostly though, his mind remained on Candela. Their first meeting had been at knife-point not quite a year back. His mind's eye remembered well the vivacity for life that had glowed from her every pore.

She had been a girl who took the reins of her own life by the teeth.

Yet, now she conformed. Proper hair styles as opposed to letting it be free. Corsets and formal dresses instead of her usually odd things. Quiet conversation and small talk masking her regular spirited self.

The Marquis knew nothing of the girl was courting.

And, at this, Nadir began to wonder if Candela did either.

A half a year was a long enough time for someone to forget who they were when in pursuit of something. The maid desired a better future than a spinster who would one day be turned from her home because of the death of her benefactor. Perhaps she might have amassed a small fortune but what was a woman like her to do with her life?

Marriage had seemed the logical option to everything.

Marriage to a marquis, the perfect option.

Pausing before a jewelry shop, he peered through the darkened glass at the variety of rings displayed therein. His eyes grew misty as he remembered his lovely Rookheeya, an arranged marriage that had worked. Such a short love story theirs had been.

"Would Candela be happy? She isn't Rookheeya." A chuckle and a tear escaped him as he continued his way home, unsure of how to sort his muddled brain. Perhaps a long talk by the fire with Darius would clear it.

 **E-OC**

"Do you think your cousin will like me?" Candela inquired quietly, smoothing her skirts and calming her fidgeting to appear more proper.

"She will love you." The Marquis leaned closer to her and grasped her lace-gloved hands. "You and she will get along well. I hope you don't mind children? She likes to keep him close to her."

"Not a problem. I like children." Her eyes shifted off the Marquis's searching ones and drifted to glance out the window. Children of the servants had, with only a few exceptions, been a rowdy group, uncontrollable even by their own parents. As for the few noble children that she had met, they were pompous miniatures of their own families.

Yet, she would remain hopeful that this little duke would prove neither of her opinions true.

As the carriage rolled to a stop before the mansion, the driver jumped down and aided the pair of them out, bowing low to them both. The Marquis waved him away and led her towards the door, smiling the whole way and chattering about his cousin. If anything, Candela found herself glad he was filling the silence. With every step towards her former location of employment, her stomach grew colder, chilling her to the bone far more than the winter wind ever could.

The doors swept open and they glided through, servants whisking away their coats and hats the moment they stepped into the warm hallway. The footman and the butler both eyed the Spaniard suspiciously but said not a word. The maid supposed that her skin was paler from a year beneath the earth and her cheeks were fuller from healthy eating.

Her appearance had altered drastically.

Besides, she had never been acquainted with the butler.

Before they even had a chance to move into the sitting room to warm themselves further by the fire, a whoosh of red shirts appear at the head of the stairs and scampered down them, two at a time.

"Jules!" The lively redhead cried, embracing her cousin as if he had been gone for some long journey. "You're back. Oh! And you brought your lady with you. I am honored to meet you, at last. Jules has told me nothing but glowing news." Candela giggled quietly as the woman swept up her hands in a fervent grasp.

"Do calm down, Reine. You'll scare the poor girl."

"I doubt it. She seems a strong enough specimen of a lady. I'm Marie Reine, Duchess of St. Albans. And, let me see if I've got this correct." Her eyes closed a moment before she said, "Candela de la Vaga? Yes, that's it. I never forget a name." If the Spaniard hadn't been so completely flabbergasted with the nature of the Duchess, she might have been able to enjoy the excitement more. But, as it was, the pure enthusiasm overwhelmed her.

She had thought that all proper women were somber creatures.

"Yes, you are correct. Even down the last articles."

"Wonderful! Now, Jules," she fixed her sapphire gaze upon her cousin, "you will leave the two of us alone and keep Will occupied. I wish to make the better acquaintance of this girl without you gushing over her." Unable to resist the impetuous giggle, Candela covered her mouth and barely glanced at the blushing Marquis.

"You go on." She added in, finding herself growing more comfortable with the Duchess.

"If you're sure, my dear…?" Candela nodded and he disappeared away into another part of the mansion while the two women hurried into the parlor where a roaring fire and tea waited for them. After several minutes filled with the crackling of fire and stirring of tea, the Duchess spoke up,

"Now, do tell me how a kitchen maid managed to begin courting a Marquis. It must be quite a story!"

 **E-OC**

"What do you think, Darius?" Nadir asked as he relaxed in front of a fire, sipping away on some Persian tea and staring into the dancing flames. The servant, settled comfortably into his own chair, took a sip of tea before responding,

"I don't know, sir. You know her far better than I do, but if I were to hazard an opinion, I would declare she isn't happy. She had lied to herself long enough that she had convinced herself to be happy." After Nadir rolled the thoughts around in his head for a few moments, he nodded in agreement.

"I believe I agree with you. She convinced us all. He loves her, that poor man. He loves her so much. But she doesn't love him back."

"She is fond of him." Darius remarked. "But, perhaps more of his position."

"She's no gold-digger!" Nadir cried, appalled that his servant might believe such a low thing of such a fine woman.

"Yes, sir! She is not so low as that. But, allow me to explain. While she does care for the Marquis and she would never dream of hurting him, she wants nothing more than to not be a servant for all her life. In that way, she is seeking his place over himself." Darius rose and filled his master's tea before continuing. "She means no harm but if she doesn't realize some things quickly, she will hurt herself and him with her misery."

After glancing at his pocket watch, he scurried away to the kitchen to fetch his scones from the oven. Upon returning, he doled them out and sat back down in his chair.

"Might I inquire what prompted this line of thinking?"

"I spoke to Erik this afternoon over 'tea' and found some disturbing things."

"What things? Is he well?" Darius leaned forward, keen to learn about Master Erik. While he had never been well-acquainted with his master's friend, what little knowledge he had lended itself to a kind sort of pity.

"The fool doesn't know it yet but, I fear, he is falling in love."

 **E-OC**

The elegant tea cup, hand painted with roses and edged in a film of gold, paused halfway to Candela's lips and might have fallen except for the quick action of the Duchess, grabbing it before it plummeted to the floor.

"I am so sorry! I shouldn't have shocked you like that. It's just, I remembered you the moment I saw you and I was simply curious." The Spaniard's hands shook violently and her heart threatened to cease beating as she desperately tried to think of something to say.

"I'm…I'm sorry." She stammered, rising to her feet and wondering momentarily if disappearing could be an option. Her secret, so well kept for a half of a year, had been revealed, revealed so easily. The Duchess knew it all. A brief word given to the Marquis would ruin their whole relationship. She had hoped to break it to him kindly, if she told him at all.

Now, everything was known.

Candela found the tendril of relief weaving along with the ones of panic and terror more disturbing than any of the others.

"Don't apologize, my dear. Here, sit back down. I'm not upset." The Duchess remarked kindly, giving her a gentle smile and the teacup back.

"How did you know?" Candela gasped and, not trusting herself with the teacup, set it back onto the tray.

"I never forget a face. I was here three years ago and went down to the kitchen to thank the cooks for their kindness is making a lovely dinner, despite my cousin's discouragement. Well, before anyone noticed me, I watched the kitchen servants mingling. The cook was upset with you and lashed out severely towards you over the cooking of the vegetables, apparently, something you weren't a part of. You snap back at her, holding your own easily. I never forgot that."

Candela blushed and ducked her head. The scene she had mentioned played out multiple times over her five-year employ as a kitchen maid.

"Yes, that would be me. The cook hated me. I never bowed to her will and determined to better myself with learning to read and write. As an uneducated woman herself, she grew jealous over my expanding knowledge. She'd never had the drive to learn herself and she tried to stop me."

"That's a disgrace! I'm glad you never let her get to you and keep you back. You've done well for yourself."

"What are you going to do now you know I'm not a middle-class woman? That I am a servant." There was no point in dodging the situation at hand. Her future now lay in the hands of this Duchess, a woman she didn't remember and who, despite her kindness, might not be so favorable now.

English nobility and whatnot.

"You seem to be a sweet girl, more subdued then I remember but perhaps the years haven't been so kind. I see no reason to tell all your secrets to my cousin. It is not my place. They are yours to tell him when and if you please." While her cousin's previous experience with courting a woman of modest means hadn't ended well, this girl struck her as a sturdier sort who cared for more than just the Marquis's wealth.

"Thank you. I appreciate this. He doesn't know yet and I would like to break it to him in my own fashion." If that would ever happen. If the time never came, Candela wouldn't feel sorry for its lack. A lie can go on for years.

"I'll leave that to your judgement. Now, tell me about yourself and how you managed to begin courting my cousin." Passing the girl her cup of tea once more, the Duchess settled deeper into her chair, eager to hear the story.

 **E-OC**

"Love?" Darius exclaimed, his eyes widening. "But, what of the Comtesse? Didn't Master Erik swear to love her forever? He nearly died of it, sir!"

"I know. He has yet to come to terms with it. He still believes himself in love with Christine. When I asked him, he grew very angry. I don't think we need fear what he will do to her or the Marquis. The poor man is struggling with emotions which he cannot name or is too afraid to name." Draining the dregs of the teapot, Nadir flavored it to his taste. "I once thought the worst thing that could ever happen to him was to fall in love. I was right last time. I don't want to be right again."

"Master, perhaps, Candela might love him in return? She is a strong girl and is under no deceptions as to who he is. She could love him." Nadir scoffed, shaking his head.

"No, no, she is a courted woman and Erik is her employer. Her sense of propriety wouldn't allow it. It is a pity though, she would make a fine wife." Lightly sipping on his final cup of tea, Nadir allowed his mind to dream about how it might happen.

They would be such a madly in love couple, always making eyes at each other. Several months after the wedding, Candela's stomach would grow with their first child. Erik, of course, would be terrified but accepting of the addition. She would give them a perfect child and would name Nadir the godfather despite Erik's protests.

It would such a lovely life for them all.

Shaking his head, he set his cup aside, not having the heart to finish it.

"Things might change." Darius suggested, his tone hopeful.

"I don't think they will."

 **E-OC**

"That is quite a story. This past year has been an interesting one for you." The Duchess stood up and rang the bell for the tea tray to be taken away.

"Yes, it has, Madame."

"Oh, please call me Reine. No need to be so formal. If my cousin keeps up his courting, we'll be related by marriage and hopefully remain friends." The maid, a girl who Candela didn't recognize, whisked into and disappeared with the tray.

"Thank you…Reine."

"Think nothing of it. Now, I had a thought and I want your help with it. I'm planning a Christmas Eve party to be held here with all our old friends and maybe even the few family we have in the city. It'll be a nice little gathered and I want you to aid me." The Duchess's blue eye sparkled mischievously as schemes and theories ran through her head, her eyes imagining the regal beauty of the place once it was finished.

"Aid you? What do you mean?"

"Well, it's hard to put on a party with just one person's ideas. The Marquis won't help me and, I need someone. So, I thought you might be able to give me a few ideas?" Candela paused for a moment, letting the idea of a party warm on her. Never in her life had she attended a proper party, only seen them from behind the cracks of doors.

"I'd love to help!" She exclaimed, the party eliciting excitement from her.

"Wonderful! Let me fetch some paper and we can begin to conceptualize."

 **E-OC**

As he inked the last name onto the cast list of the opera, most of them being those who were currently employed with a few minor exceptions, he turned his attention back to the lead soprano spot, empty as it had been when he had begun.

The current would have to leave immediately, of course. He had listened to her that afternoon before retreating into his house and determined Carlotta had a finer voice.

Auditions were a trial but they would have to be held.

Rising to his feet, he knocked a stack of papers off his organ, the parchments crashing and a scrap formerly on the bottom of the pile, fluttering down on top of the toppled mess. Picking it up, he skimmed over contains, a former cast list from a year and half back.

At the top of the list, he stared at the name, read it several times in his mind and smiled quietly.

"Perfect." Picking up the quill in his hand once more, he carefully scratched in elegant red scrip:

 _Christine Daaé._


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

For all fanfic writers who don't write modern fanfics, please look into _Dicken's Dictionary of Paris, 1882_. IT IS A WEALTH OF INFORMATION FOR A WRITER! I'm loving every minute of reading! I don't know if it can be gotten in a hard copy but it is on Google Books.

sarahandmarquis

Chapter 16:

"Christine? Christine, are you awake?" The blonde Comte inquired as he slipped under the sheets beside his dozing wife. Blue eyes fluttering open, she yawned quietly before she snuggled into his shoulder.

"Yes. How long did I sleep?" She asked quietly, peering up at him through sleepy eyes.

"Several hours. It's nearly supper time." A small laugh teased the corners of her mouth as she entwined her pale fingers with his strong ones. He returned her quiet gesture of affection with a gentle hand squeeze before kissing her forehead gently. "Would you like a little walk by the ocean before we eat? Do you feel well enough?"

Christine's breath labored for a moment before she nodded, shifting in the small bed to sitting up.

"That would be nice. I'll waste away in this bed." A self-depreciating chuckle echoed between thin lips. "I look no better than him." After a year, Raoul found his bride referring to her angel more often and with less horror. Her mind had recovered, now her body had to follow.

"I'll fetch your cloak." He whispered as he slid from the bed and disappeared from the room. returning several moments later, he helped his unsteady bride from their bed and wrapped the cloak about her shoulders.

"Thank you, Raoul. Is the beach pretty right now?" He nodded and guided her out of their small villa on the shore and down a smooth rock path to the sandy shore.

"See, it's quite lovely." The weary girl nodded and leaned heavily on him as they ambled along, Christine pausing only once to remove her shoes to enjoy the sand between her toes. When they reached a flat boulder, Christine gestured for them to rest.

"This has been a nice holiday, Raoul. Thank you for bringing me here. I feel better almost every day. I'll soon be ready to return to Paris." Despite his wife's mentioning that cursed city nearly every day, Raoul had long ago determined that she would never go back, except perhaps to see her father's grave.

"I have been thinking, Christine, and…and perhaps it isn't wise for either of us to go back to Paris." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "We would do much better to stay away."

"No!" She gasped and clutched his lapels with all the strength her weak body could muster. "No! We must go back. I must bury his remains. I promised, Raoul. I fell ill and couldn't complete it. But, I must now I am better. He is long dead. We have nothing to worry about."

"Christine, you're still so sick. I don't want to risk your health, mental or physical, anytime soon." His blue eyes softened kindly as hers welled up with tears,

"You think I'm crazy, don't you!"

"No! No, I don't think you're crazy. It's just…you've been ill and, I would never risk your health intentionally. I love you, my darling. I love you." Containing her whimpers, Christine laid her head against her husband's chest and whispered,

"I love you too."

 **E-OC**

 _My dearest Christine,_

 _Erik begs you not to be alarmed at receiving this letter. He is sure you believe him to long interred into the soil beneath his Opera House but, that is hardly correct. He has had a fortunate run of luck and has been reinstated at the Opera Ghost._

 _He shall get straight to the point. The Opera is putting on its first performance since its temporary closing and we must have a soprano that Erik can trust. He could think of none but you._

 _Christine, Erik trained your voice to perfection. You must come and sing. Erik will not try to meet with you. He will avoid you. He loves you but you must be happy with your young man._

 _He let you go. He will not recant his promise._

 _Your Angel of Music_

After scratching his signature into the parchment, Erik glanced back through his letter. Surely, she wouldn't deny him this? Surely, she would be kind to the memories of her angel. Surely, she would come sing for him once more, even if it were for his alias.

Carefully folding the message, he stamped it appropriately and sealed it with his skull seal. Setting the letter aside for posting later, he picked up a sheet of paper and began to plot daily plans for the Opera, refusing to ponder why his confession of love had been so hard and his promise of avoidance so easily written.

Certainly, it was just his fear of rejection.

It had to be just that.

 **E-OC**

"What do you think of forest green?" Reine asked as she held up a scrap of cloth and frowned at it. "Would this be a good color for a Christmas Masque?" Candela shrugged and took the color from the Duchess.

"I don't know. It's very much a Christmas color but I always preferred red."

"Ah, that's a good one too. Let me see what I have…" She dug through her cloth pieces and withdrew a handsome blood shade. "How about this? It's a good red, reminds me of the holly berries back home." Candela took the color strip from her and nodded.

"Yes, I like it. Maybe some white added in for accent and the decorations will be perfect."

"Maybe it will snow and add to the mood!" Reine offered excitedly and set the red cloth aside and pulled out a paper covered in party theories they had drawn up several weeks previously at their first meeting. Adding the color choice to the page, she set it aside and pulled out another page.

"I'll commission the curtains and other décor this afternoon. Yesterday, I arranged for the meal and appetizers as well as the silverware and dishes." While chewing on her bottom lip, she scratched off those items on the list. "All we need to do is write invitations. I bought cards and had the invitation printed. All we must do now is write each name. What are your opinions of writer's cramp?"

"On behalf of a good cause, I shall endure it with joy." Candela declared happily as Reine passed her a stack of cards, a pen, and a list of names. Settling comfortably into her chair, she began to carefully copy names just as they were listed.

After several moments with no sound but scratching of pen on paper, Reine spoke up,

"Tell me about your childhood, if that's not much a problem." Glancing up from her work, she dipped her pen in an inkwell and continued speaking, "I don't mean to pry at all, I'm just curious how you came to live here."

Candela paused for a moment, her pen dripping once onto the card before she finished writing the name.

"I was born in a small town in the mountains to Valentina de la Vega. She was a barmaid in a small cantina. Until I was thirteen, I lived with her there and was raised to follow in her footsteps when she was too old to work." For a moment, Reine's forehead creased in thought, the name sounding familiar to her. Yet, she quickly brushed it aside, assuming her mother's name was common in Spain. Surely her mind had thought of someone unrelated to her friend.

"Sounds awful." Candela shrugged, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"It wasn't so bad. Not that I knew anything different."

"Where was your father?" So far in her brief biography, no father had been mentioned, leading Reine to think he might have passed on, a point on which Candela quickly corrected her,

"I never knew my father. My mother told me he was a French nobleman. I'm beginning to wonder if she even knew his name for she never told it to me." Finishing the last of her cards, Candela blew the ink dry and set it aside. "When she died, I came to France to look for him and have failed these six years. I've basically given up. He might be dead by now for all I know."

"You have not an idea of who he might have been?" The Spaniard shook her head solemnly and tucked her legs under her body.

"Nary a notion. When I first came, I thought I would know my father the moment I laid eyes on him but, if I ever have, I never did." She lowered her eyes the carpet and Reine leaned over to patted her shoulder, pitying the lady.

Despite not having a good relationship with her parents, especially her father, she'd always had them. Never once had she questioned her lineage. But, this girl didn't even know half of her family tree. They had been ripped from her by some fool's mismanagement of his actions.

"Whatever man he is, I can't imagine him being a very good man. Perhaps it is better for you not to know how bad he might have been?" The girl looked up and chuckled.

"Good point. I've done well enough for the past nineteen years without him. I suppose I don't really need him." Candela offered a faux smile, ending the conversation effectively there without having to cause embarrassment.

Evil or not, she still wanted to know her father.

"Why don't we go to the decorators and plan the décor?" Reine offered as she stood up and picked up the cards, inserting them carefully into envelopes.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's bring our notes." The Duchess nodded quickly and scooped up the objects, tucking them away into her reticule. As they were walking to the door, both their stomachs rumbled quietly, inciting twittering laughter between the women.

"Lunch before we return." The Duchess declared as they strolled down the street.

 **E-OC**

"Well, that went quite well!" Reine declared as she shed her gloves and helped her friend out of her cloak and hung it up. "Will you come help me decorate? You have helped me so much in determining what we should do or not do." While Candela didn't agree with the Duchess on her assessment, she nodded her agreement. If anything, she enjoyed assisting the Duchess.

"Wonderful! Now, we need to –"

"Reine!" The Duchess paused mid-sentence and turned to face her cousin as he approached. "Reine, the Comte d'Aboville visited this afternoon while the pair of you were absence and gave us these." He handed four admissions to the Duchess. " _Mam'zelle Nitouche_ is being performed tonight at _Théâtre_ _des Bouffes-Parisiens_. I had hoped both of you would be willing to accompany me?" Candela's eyes lit up, the prospect of a fancy evening out very appealing to her.

"Thank you very much. I shall have to ask my uncle but I don't see why I couldn't go."

"Why don't you invite him as well? Do you think he would enjoy an operetta?" Candela shrugged in response. To be honest with herself, she didn't know whether Nadir had a fondness for music. While aware he had attended the Opera House before, she couldn't be sure if he did it for society or for the pleasure of the music.

"I shall ask him. I've heard its fun little story." Candela gathered up her cloak and gloves and continued, "I have some errands to run before this evening. Shall I meet you here or at the _Théâtre_?" Glancing between the Duchess and the Marquis, she gave each of them a kindly smile.

"Meet us here and we shall take my carriage to the _Théâtre_. Say, seven o'clock?" She nodded her agreement and gently tossed the cloak about her shoulders once more.

"I shall see both of you then." She dropped a light curtsy to both, the Marquis grasping her hand and lightly kissing its back, and then quickly left the mansion, her aim the Opera House, her quick steps carrying her easily through the bustling crowds of people.

A giggle escaped her lips as she slipped into the alley and down into the cellars. Upon reaching the subterranean home, she flitted into her bedroom and removed the one dress fitting for the occasion, her purple gown from the last time she attended a show with the Marquis.

Running her hands over the velvet, she sighed contentedly and began the long process of changing out of her afternoon dress into the cumbersome garment she would have to don to be acceptable.

As she tightened the last of bit of the corset, loosely enough to determine that she could breathe easily, she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Turning around and tying a little bow to hold the instrument of torture in place, she called out,

"Come in, Senor." Grabbing a dressing gown, she tossed it around her shoulders and tied the sash for the sake of her modesty. After a moment, the door opened and the Phantom filled the doorway with his dark presence.

"Good afternoon. I hadn't expected you to return so soon." He said, appearing to frown under his full-face mask. His golden eyes peered out at her, raking her form with their yellow gaze and taking in everything to determine the reasons behind his statement.

"I hadn't expected it either." She remarked as she gestured towards the fancy gown. "But, I was invited by the Marquis to attend an operetta with his cousin so I had to return and change. I meant to tell you that I won't be here for supper."

A scowl passed through his eyes as he leaned against the door frame.

"You are here so little anymore, it's a wonder Erik doesn't fire you." Candela scoffed quietly at his comment and turned to find her hairbrush.

"You need someone here. A person can't live alone all their lives."

"I don't see why not." The Phantom snarled, his tone surprising the maid so she turned back to face him, a curious expression painted on her face.

"And what has irked the almighty Opera Ghost? The ballet missing their marks?" A hiss answered her remark as she drew her brush through her hair. "The baritone unable to hit a difficult note?" The Phantom growled at her playful query. "Your soprano worse than Carlotta?"

She meant it as a tease, not serious in her comment but the Phantom practically exploded.

"You will not speak of _her_ in such a way!" In a moment, he stood with a breath of a her. His golden eyes burned with liquid gold flame. His hands lashed around her neck, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.

Black dots appeared before her eyes.

Gasping for breath, she clawed against his hands, leaving blood trails coursing down his yellowed fingers. Desperate to get air before she lost consciousness, she tried to kick him in the shins, failing due to height difference.

Whatever words he roared fell upon deaf ears as her vision turned black.

 **E-OC**

When Candela's eyes finally opened, she found herself crumpled up on the hard floor, the dressing gown still saving her modesty. As she sat up, her head spun and she coughed, her throat immediately complaining. She struggled to her feet and glanced at the full-length mirror, gasping at the purple, finger-shaped bruises that twisted around her throat.

Lightly she brushed the dark marks and glanced back at her chosen gown, realizing now she couldn't wear it. The low color would reveal the injury and Candela preferred to not have any questions asked. Once the purple velvet had been carefully hung in the wardrobe once more, she withdrew a simple silver garment, the collar and lace high enough to hide the marks.

Her eyes damp with tears, she pulled on her remaining articles of clothing, finishing with simple shoes. Checking her small pocket watch, she was relieved to find it was only four in the afternoon. She still had time to visit Nadir.

Perhaps he would know what was wrong with the Phantom.

"All I did was mention the soprano? What could be so wrong with that?" Her throat hurt with every word she whispered, something that would prove difficult to explain to her evening companions. Donning her cloak and fetching her reticule, she slipped out of her bedroom and through the small house, disliking the relieved feeling that slipped into her stomach at hearing the violin screaming from his bedroom.

In a moment, she had crossed the lake and sprinted up the cellars, catching a carriage at the Rue Scribe to Nadir's apartment. Her throat burned from her exertion. Candela allowed herself a few tears of confusion before she arrived at the modest door of the Nadir's home.

After paying the cabby, she lightly knocked on the door, Darius admitting her moments later. His kindly dark eyes gazed at her but he asked no questions as he took her cloak and hung it up, silently escorting her into the study.

"Candela! What a pleasure to see you!" He rose to greet her. "Come in, sit down." He gestured for her to take the comfortable day couch and he occupied the chair near it. "Are you well?" He inquired as he noted her pale cheeks.

Without a word, she unbuttoned several buttons on her collar and slowly pulled the lace and cloth aside to reveal the bruises.

Nadir gasped.

"He didn't." He whispered as anger and compassion filled his face for a moment before he stood up. "I'll fetch you some tea to help your throat." He lightly patted her arm before disappearing for a moment. When he returned, he joined her on the day couch. "Darius will be here in a moment with some mint tea. Tell me what happened. How severe is it?"

"I don't know what I did to set him off. He seemed to be in a bad mood and I playfully asked if it was his chosen soprano and compared her to Carlotta. He attacked me." Nadir's jade eyes hardened and he took her hand tightly in his.

"You will come live with me. We shall go right now and gather your things and move them into my guest bedroom. It is smaller than yours but you shall be safe." Candela gasped and quickly shook her head.

"No, I can't leave. I intend to find out why he reacted so badly. I can't leave him right now." Nadir shook his head. No way would he allow this Spanish angel to return to the Opera Ghost's lair. Before, he had considered her safe, mad girl that she was, but now, now Erik endangered her.

"I always declared you were a mad girl but this is pure insanity. You can't go back to live with him. I have been so wrong. I thought you would be safe. But, no, you must come live with me until you can find another situation or the Marquis proposes to you." Before this moment, Nadir had considered speaking with her about her exact opinions of the Marquis and the possibility that he wasn't the answer to all her desires.

Yet now, he had no choice. She had to leave Erik immediately and the Marquis would be her permeant escape.

"I won't leave." Candela declared, panicking suddenly at the thought of abandoning him. Wisdom lay with Nadir's advice but something within her cried to go back to the home beneath the Opera House, cried to learn why he had lashed out as a wounded animal might, cried to bind his wounds as she had a year previous. "I don't want to leave him. Not now. I shall discover his reasons behind his actions and determine if I am still in danger. If I am, then I shall seek another employment and another residence."

Rising to her feet, she secured the buttons and lace about her throat, once more concealing the bruises.

"You can't be serious!" He exclaimed, standing up as well and incredulously staring at her.

"I'm not scared of him." Candela declared, confident in her feelings on the subject. "I can't leave him right now. Something is wrong with him. Something set him off. He needs me more than ever now."

"He could have killed you."

"He didn't." She shot back as their argument was temporarily interrupted by Darius entering with a tray. After the servant bowed and left, Candela poured some tea for the both and sipped on it, relived to feel the pain lessening from the application of mint to her throat.

"He's killed men before. You didn't know that, did you? Now, I don't believe he's ever killed a woman but that doesn't mean he won't start." Nadir warned her, unbelieving of her recklessness.

"I suspected it." In the darkest recesses of her mind, she knew the Phantom's hands were not innocent of blood. The Comtesse's comments while Candela had been her lady's maid had been enough to prove those suspicions. "I don't believe he will kill me."

"You didn't think he would harm you either." Nadir pointed out, finding the one little flaw in her logic.

"A person can be wrong once yet still have some honesty to her name. I will trust him until he has proved himself otherwise." She adamantly declared, finishing her cup of tea and returning it to its saucer.

"Ah, so when he kills you in his torture chamber or strangles you with his hands or that Punjab lasso, then your dead body will determine it wasn't so wise a move to live in the lair of a killer?" The Spaniard didn't care to admit that Nadir had several interesting points to his argument. Yet, her determination still stood.

"Perhaps it will. Perhaps I am madder than you always thought I was. But, I can't leave him. The thought of abandoning him so quickly rips my heart out."

"That's what you would do when you married."

"At least he would have known." Candela whispered, once more confronted with the reality of one day never having that home to herself. Even now, it was close to being lost to her.

"Do you think he might not want you there at all? Maybe this was his harsh way of bidding you goodbye?" Nadir sensed his words stung the tough girl but he deemed it necessary. Better for some emotional scars now as opposed to death later.

"Then, I will hear it from his own lips." The maid resolved as the clock hanging on the wall opposite his desk chimed five times, alerting them both to the current time. "I did come here with other intentions other than arguing. The Marquis has extended an invitation for me to accompany his cousin and him to _Théâtre_ _des Bouffes-Parisiens_ for a showing of _Mam'zelle Nitouche_. They had hoped you might come with us?"

Realizing Candela wouldn't bend to his wisdom, Nadir allowed the subject to drop in hopes that she would at least consider his words. And, after a moment of thinking, the operetta sounded like a lovely diversion from their heavy conversation.

"Sounds lovely. I should like to continue my acquaintance with the Marquis and meet his cousin. When are we to meet them?"

"Seven o'clock at their home."

"Excellent. Then we have time for some supper. Would you join me in the dining room, Mademoiselle?" He offered his arm and a friendly smile, in the hopes that the olive branch would mend whatever injuries his truthful words had incurred.

The subject would return and he would repeat his sentiments.

Perhaps then she would listen.

"I would be delighted." Candela remarked, accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her into the dining room. As they walk, her mind swam, mostly consumed with a single thought.

Why didn't she want to leave?


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"What sort of person is the Marquis's cousin?" Nadir inquired as their cab clattered across the cobblestone streets, five minutes to seven. "Is she a pleasant woman?"

"Oh, yes, I would say so. She's befriended me even though she knows everything." Candela smiled brightly at the thought of her lively red-headed friend. "She was married to an English Duke when she was very young, she's now in her thirties, but he passed away some years ago, leaving her a tidy fortune and a young son to raise by herself. I've only met the lad a few times but he seems sweet enough and lacking the haughty air of many noble born children."

For a single moment, Nadir's mind drifted back to his darling Rookheeya, the Duchess's widowhood reminding him of his own loss. The figure of Rookheeya danced in his mind for a moment and Reza smiled up at him before he carefully stored the memories away for another time.

It wouldn't do to become emotional around his soon to be "family."

"I can imagine it has been hard for her. Has she handled it well?"

"I'd say she's handled it quite well. She has a vivacity for living that is infectious. Devoted to her son, she also apparently likes to live on the edge of life, if given the chance. I would call her a forward thinker." Nadir chuckled to himself at the thought of this woman, already rebuilding his image of her.

"I believe you are right in saying I shall like her." Candela nodded and smiled before leaning forward and whispering,

"She knows everything. She hasn't told the Marquis but I wanted you to know." He opened his mouth to answer when the carriage rolled to a stop before the mansion, the driver hopping down to open the door. Nadir slipped out first, extending his hand to Candela to help her down. Leaning gently on his proffered hand, she hopped out, Nadir paying the cabby before they walked up to the door.

Before they could even knock, the door was opened and a red-head whirled out to meet them.

"Candela! You made it!" A flurry of blue skirts billowed around the Spaniard as her cheeks were lightly pressed by the Duchess's before the woman turned her attention towards Nadir, standing awkwardly off to one side, unsure how to handle this bundle of life.

"You must be her 'uncle' Nadir. It's a pleasure to meet you." Reine gave the Persian man a dazzling smile before she completely noticed him. Once she had, a faint blush rose on her cheeks. Her young friend hadn't told her how handsome her "uncle" was. Tall with dark hair and jade eyes – he resembled no one that she had ever met before.

"At your service, Madame." He took her offered hand and bowed low over it. "I am Nadir Khan."

"Marie Reine, Duchess of St. Albans."

"It is an honor, Duchess." The noblewoman laughed quietly and turned away for a moment as the Marquis stepped out of the door behind her.

"I do hope you're not scaring away our guest, Reine." Jules acknowledged his cousin and Nadir before turning his eyes solely onto to Candela. "My dear, I am pleased to see you were able to make it. You look lovely." He bent low over her hand and brushed his lips against her gloved hands. "As fair as moonlight."

A half-hearted giggle escaped Candela as he offered her his arm, hardly noticing the emptiness haunting her eyes for a moment.

"Shall we go? I believe the play will begin soon and my carriage waits." As if on cue, an elegant coach rolled into sight, pulled by a fine team of four matched horses. The Marquis ushered Candela towards it, leaving Nadir to glance at the Duchess and offer her his arm, as a gentleman should.

"My lady?"

"Thank you." She responded, pleasantly surprised at his manners. "It seems we are to be the third wheels, so to speak, of this evening."

"Is that unpleasant to you?" Nadir inquired, hoping the lovely red-head on his arm wouldn't object to his keeping her company. Since the moment that she had breezed out of the door and greeted him in a whirlwind of blue skirts, he hadn't been able to take his eyes from her. She couldn't be the thirty that Candela claimed. She appeared more twenty or twenty-five, still young and full of life.

It would be a delight to spend an evening with so fine a companion.

"Not at all. I should like to hear more about you. Candela has told me much. Perhaps you can tell me some tales of Persia, if you don't mind. I would have traveled the world, and no doubt visited, but so far life hasn't allowed for such a venture." She frowned for a moment, her whole face creasing with the expression, before his rapid promise of stories, returned her bright smile.

"Of course, I shall tell you everything you wish to know, within reason." After assisting her into the coach, he settled in beside her, noting how the Marquis held to Candela's hand and spoke to her in low tones, as if anything couldn't be overhead in the coach.

Aside from the not so quiet murmurings between the Marquis and lady, the drive remained mostly silent, the Duchess seeming content to wait until more convenient times to talk of Persia. Grateful for the time to gather his thoughts, Nadir refreshed his memory of his homeland, thinking of facts that might impress her or interest her.

As the novelty of a foreigner among them had worn off for the most part, no one asked him anymore for tales. Before telling of his heritage had been painful, but now, the prospect trilled him. Too many years had elapsed for him to still feel tender longing.

The brief ride soon ended, the coach rolling to a stop and the footman opened the door and lowered the steps for the four occupants to disembark. The Marquis descended, Candela on his arm as he talked of the play they were to see while Nadir assisted the Duchess down.

"Tell me," she asked as they entered the theater, "about what you were in Persia." Nadir paused for a moment, watching the Marquis give the four admissions to the doorman before answering.

"I was the Daroga, or Chief of Police, in Mazenderan. I reported directly to the Shah himself." Glancing down into the Duchess's blue eyes, he read awe written within them.

"Dare I ask if you were any good?" She inquired as an usher escorted them to their seats.

"I like to think I was." He remarked, his jade eyes twinkling subtly. His response drew a laugh from the Duchess as she settled down beside him in her seat.

"Most men do. Now, while we wait for this play to begin, tell me of Persia itself. Is it as beautiful as I have heard? Do the women truly wear nothing covering their stomachs?" Nadir chuckled to himself, supposing such a thing would be beyond scandalous for a woman of proper French breeding.

"It is quite true. All of it." Her eyes lit up.

He had her hooked.

 **E-OC**

The violin music screeched to a halt as the bow gave up its last strands of horsehair and begged for a moment's rest from the madman playing it. Thrown aside, the instrument whined at the abuse before falling silent, leaving its player in the agony of silence.

He was confused.

What else could he think?

She had been so scared of him in that very moment. As the light died from her eyes and her form crumpled beneath his fingers, she had been terrified of him. Her fingers had clawed bloody strips into his delicate skin.

They would leave scars.

But that image would leave never healing wounds in his heart.

Holding his offending hands up before him, he stared at the congealed blood, not having bothered to even wash it from his fingers before he had tried to forget everything with his violin and organ.

What he wouldn't give for morphine or opium at that moment!

Anything to take away the pain ripping through his very soul.

Would it feel worse when she left him for good? If this incident hadn't driven his mad Spaniard from him. Surely, she would tell Nadir. The old policeman would hammer sense into her brain that even she couldn't deny and he would never see her again, save through stalking.

What kind of sight was that?

How could she had known that his soprano was Christine? She had no knowledge of a letter posted in her absence. She had merely assumed it to be some screaming diva, worse than the shrieking devil which had formerly blasphemed the stage.

When she had fallen, he had feared he had killed her.

Strong though she was, she wasn't a match for him, blind with rage to protect his darling's name. A brief checking of her pulse had relieved him a little as her to continued existence in the world but had done nothing to assuage the sudden guilt.

Guilt he had tried to solve by fleeing.

He didn't believe in miracles of forgiveness.

She wouldn't return.

 **E-OC**

"Wasn't that enjoyable?" The Marquis remarked as the final curtain closed on the last round of applause. "I haven't laughed like that in months!" He chuckled and Candela giggled at his side, her throat not currently able to support anything more exertion.

"I loved it. Do thank the Comte for me please." The Duchess said from her seat by Nadir. "Why don't we go out for a late dinner? I believe I know several cafés that are open at this hour." She glanced over at the Persian and winked. The Persian nearly laughed at the obvious reason behind her suggestion.

"An excellent idea." Jules declared and rose, offering his arm to Candela. "Shall we go?" The Spaniard nodded and the pair left before Nadir and Reine. As they watched the lovebirds walk down the red carpet of the hallway towards the doors of the Theater, the Duchess looked at Nadir,

"What do you think of them?" Surprised by her question, Nadir stammered for a moment before collecting his thoughts.

"They are a nice couple. He will take good care of her."

"You're being logical." She snapped back quietly. "What does is your heart telling you?" Despite still considering herself young, the Duchess wouldn't call herself naive. During the whole evening, she had noticed Nadir watching the pair, the barest hint of a frown on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't dense, Monsieur Khan. Do you approve of this?" Her questions were straight to the point and Nadir found them quite revealing. The pretty red-head had a fine brain and good eyes.

"I am torn." He replied as he slowed his step, hanging back on purpose to encourage a more private conversation. "The marriage would be good for her and I want to see her settled well. Yet, I worry about her happiness. She isn't completely happy. She isn't in love."

"I have noticed so as well. My cousin is smitten with her but a marriage between unequals requires far more love than those of equals. She is trying so hard." Both paused in their conversation as they watched Candela trying to laugh at something the Marquis said.

"Yes, she is trying. I fear she will fail. It's been three-quarters of a year and her heart has yet to surrender."

"I once heard a wise man declare that 'you can lead a heart to love but you can't make it fall'. Perhaps this is the problem that our friend is expierncing?" Nadir acknowledged the wisdom in her words.

"You are correct, Madame."

"Perhaps we need to keep our thoughts to ourselves and allow her some time to realize it? As I said before, she is a sharp girl. She'll understand in time." The Duchess's blue eyes looked up at him as they left the theater and walked down the stairs towards the coach. She paused on impulse and turned to face him.

"Why don't we let the lovebirds have some time together? I believe you promised me more stories of Persia?" A persuading smile teased her lips and Nadir nodded, surprised to find himself so willing to spend time the strange woman.

"Give me one moment." She whispered as she darted from his side to the edge of the coach, explained her reasons to the Marquis before flittering back to the Persian's side. Curling her arm around him, she smiled kindly.

"Now, take me somewhere."

 **E-OC**

"Thank you for supper." Candela said as the meal arrived, steaming before them.

"No need to thank me." The Marquis smiled at her. "Your company is more than enough." A faint blush stained the maid's cheeks as she took a bite of her meal, her growling stomach and slightly sore throat approving highly of the warm soup.

"You are very kind." She replied, unable to think of anything more to say. Her mind had gone blank, awkwardness settled into the pit of her stomach. Insecurely and nervousness attacked her mind, leaving her without a logical thought.

"How are the plans for the party going?" Fortunately, Jules spoke up quickly, offering a neutral subject which she could easily converse with. Hiding her sigh of relief, she said,

"Very well. The decorations are coming in and I have no doubts that we will be on time for the party. Reine promised to post the invitations today so we should have a guest list in a week." Candela gave him a pretty smile as she spooned more of her soup into her mouth. There were so many things that she felt responsible for and, despite the fact it wasn't her own party and Reine would be the ultimate authority, she still desired it to be the very best.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder if this was truly what she wanted for the rest of her life.

What else was there to a Marquesse's life?

"I'm glad to hear it. It sounds like it shall be a celebration to remember. Reine told me you plan on making it a Masquerade?"

"Yes." A bit of soup slid down her chin from her mouth and before she could catch it, the Marquis wiped it away. Desperately trying not to blush in response to his forward actions, she continued, "Yes, we had hoped that would make things more fun. Besides, I've never attended a Masque before."

"I have had the fortune of attending several and there is nothing to compare to them." His eyes grew wistful for a moment before they locked onto her. Sweet gentleness pooled within them, a passivity taking over the depths.

The Marquis was a docile man.

"Are they fun?" She inquired, turning away from those eyes and preferring to focus on the food before her. When had they become so disinteresting to her? When had she begun to grow uncomfortable under their gaze?

"Yes, very much fun. You can be anyone you want under a mask. Only when the clock chimes twelve times, do you have to return to who you are." The biting tongue Candela had always suppressed fought to answer with a sarcastic comment but her teeth proved apt at restraining it, choosing a more passive statement pleasing to a nobleman's ears.

"Sounds very fun indeed." After succeeding in not gulping down the last bit of her soup, she set the bowl aside and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for cues from him to determine her next steps. He quickly wrapped up his meal and after a few moments of awkward silence, he reached over and took her hand in his.

One of his fingers rubbed up and down on her ring finger.

Her heart sped up and her need to flee rose high.

"Candela, I've been doing some thinking lately and…I was wondering if you might be willing to answer a question for me." His eyes locked on hers and this time, she couldn't look away.

"What question?" In a desperate attempt to lighten the situation, she flashed him a lighthearted smile, only to receive in return the deepest of all thoughtful gazes.

"We've been together a while now and I would like to ask you…." He trailed off and glanced down, chuckling quietly at himself. "I should know how to do this by now. Forgive me."

Now, Candela had always prided herself on being no fool. She well knew for what the Marquis gathered his courage. Panic and bile rose in her throat as she shook her head and lightly patted his hand before sliding hers free.

"Ask me at the party." Her dark eyes closed for a moment and she swallowed, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Ask me at the party." Rising to her feet, she gave him a brief smile. "I need to go. I shall see you on Christmas Eve." Daring to be bold, she pressed a quiet kiss to his cheek and stepped away from the table before hurrying outside and catching the first cab she could.

As she sat inside the rattling contraption, wending its way through the Paris streets towards the Opera House, she began to quietly weep. Ever since he had asked to court her, she knew he would ask. She had even prepared what she would say.

Yet, now, she had no answer.

 **E-OC**

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Monsieur Khan." The Duchess said as they stood outside the front door of the mansion.

"Think nothing of it, my lady. I enjoyed every moment." He bowed to her and lightly kissed her hand.

"None of this 'my lady' business. Call me Reine."

"Then you must call me Nadir." Her shoulders shook quietly with laughter as she squeezed his hand.

"I should be proud, Nadir." After giving his hand one last squeeze, she opened the door and stepped through, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder. "Good night."

"Good night." He replied quietly, offering her one last parting smile before she closed the door. The Duchess gasped quietly as she leaned against the hard wood, listening for the carriage wheels to clatter away on the gravel.

Closing her eyes, she replayed every moment in her head. Every time he smiled. Every time he laughed. A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she skipped away to her room, letting jade eyes haunt her mind. Before she reached her bedroom door, her cousin accosted her and peered at her curiously.

"My dear Reine, what has put the smirk on your face? Could it possibly be a certain uncle of a certain lady?" His eyes sparkled with jest.

"Who knows? He is quite handsome and well-spoken." Eyebrows arched and Reine giggled.

"You seem smitten with this Persian gentleman."

"He is the sort I would like to see again."

 **E-OC**

"Senor?" Her calls reverberated through the little house and roused Erik from a musical slumber. Holding his fingers up to his eyes, he saw the blood dripping from the abused tips, cut by the violin strings and mashed by continual striking of the organ's key.

Surely her voice was just a memory.

Biting back answering words, aware that addressing a hallucination could be another step towards completely madness, Erik resumed his playing. After several repeated measures, a knock thudded on his door, jarring him from his stupor.

Illusions didn't knock…did they?

Rising on trembling legs, he approached the door and cracked it open, at first not seeing a single thing. As his heart began to sink in his chest, he opened the door the rest of the way and his illusion greeted him.

Dark hair and dark eyes swam before his vision as the Phantom of the Opera fainted.

 **E-OC**

Months had passed since Candela had been required to move the motionless body of the Ghost and he had, to her surprise, gained a little weight. Hooking her arms under his arms, she surprised herself by finding a thin layer of fat clinging precariously to the muscle and sinew.

"So, you can gain weight." She muttered as she hoisted his still light body onto the low platform and into the narrow coffin, being very sure not to hit his head on something. After carefully tucking him under a light blanket and pillowing his head comfortably, she lifted his hands up to a light and frowned at the damage.

"You know you did more damage to your hands than I did?" She said to him, despite his inability to hear her. Frowning at the bloody fingertips and broken nails, she laid them down on top of the sheet and disappeared for a moment, returning with a bowl of water, several rags, bandages, and some antiseptic.

Humming quietly to herself, she began the long process of cleaning his wounds, both the ones inflicted by her and his own. First, she carefully washed away the blood and wiped at the congealed mess covering the back of his hands before dipping one end of a clean rag into the antiseptic and applying it to one of the cuts.

The Phantom howled in pain.

Surprised by the sudden reanimation of her unconscious patient, Candela yelped, dropping the hand and nearly spilling the medicine.

"Don't do that!" She snapped at the wide-eyed, apparently confused, Phantom. "You nearly dumped the antiseptic. I'll have to buy more when I'm running errands." She grabbed back his hand before he could react and continued cleaning, taking great care with the injuries.

As she resumed dabbing the wounds with caustic liquid, the Phantom stared at her, golden eyes never departing, and he never made a sound, save for the occasional whimper when she pressed too hard or struck a particularly deep cut.

Once she had finished with the first hand, she moved to the other. Yet, before she could begin he whispered,

"What are you?" His mask allowed for some sight of his mouth, drooping in sadness and turmoil. "What are you? Why are you in my house? What demon are you?" He demanded, sitting upward in his coffin and tucking his hands, still bleeding closer to him. "What are you?"

Confused, Candela reached for his injured hand and lightly scolded him.

"I'm your housekeeper, Candela. I tried to keep you from hitting your head but apparently, I failed. Now, give me your hand. We don't want them to get infected or scar." In response, he tucked his hands even closer, cowering away from her.

"You're not Candela. She's long gone. She left! And with good reason." Dark eyebrows knitted as the maid set aside her antiseptic and focused on a more immediately problem, the Ghost's tender grasp on sanity.

"Tell me why she would leave." She replied, softening her voice and eyes. Whatever was passing through his brain needed relieving. Perhaps voicing his concerns would enable her to refute them. Perhaps even draw an apology from him. She expected nothing less.

"Erik hurt her." He whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. When they opened, the candle light sparkled brighter in their damp hallows. "Erik nearly killed her. She wouldn't come back to him. He doesn't believe in miracles."

"What if you provided her with the reason behind your actions and she forgave you?" The Phantom nearly laughed.

"She won't come close enough for that. So, please, whatever you may be, leave. I do believe I would prefer nothing to a demon in angel form."

Resisting laughter, she reached over him and grabbed his hand, dipping the rag in medicine and beginning to dab away at the blood. The tendons in his hand tightened and she held the member tightly at the wrist to avoid his pulling away.

"Tell me why you tried to strangle me." She asked, going straight to the heart of the issue. Beating around bushes wasn't her preferred manner of conversation after all.

With his free hand, the Phantom reached into his suit coat and pulled out a cast list and passed it to her. Candela skimmed through the names and paused at the top, her eyes catching the familiar name.

"Christine…you have invited Christine to come back and sing at your Opera House?" She asked, incredulously. "Senor, please tell me this a joke. I'll laugh, I promise. Even enjoy this little piece of madness despite the fact it might have killed me but promise me you didn't actually go through with it."

The Phantom ducked his head in shame, the heat practically glowing in reaction to her chiding.

Candela threw up her hands.

"You're insane. You're completely insane." She muttered under her breath as she finished with the hand and tossed it back on his chest. "And you're daft too. Don't you realize what you've done by calling her back here? She'll know you're still alive! She thinks you're dead, probably. You've ruined your cover." Gathering together her things, she marched to the doorway, turning back only once to give one last rebuke,

"I thought this year I spent had been successful in getting you over her. Apparently, I was wrong." With a miffed toss of her hair to match her severe tone, she strode away, leaving the Phantom curled in his coffin, considering her words quite true.

He was insane.

And, she had failed.

More likely, he had failed her.

Somewhere along the line of her speaking, he had concluded that she was in fact real. No fake Candela could feign her temper and blunt manner of addressing him so well. His little Spanish fireball had just lashed him quite painfully.

Truth did hurt.

Lurching to his feet, he wandered from his room, intent on finding her and at least determining her intentions. She called him insane and basically a waste of time. For his actions, she would leave. Well, maybe she would give him a little warning. Let him know when she had decided her departure date.

Finding her in the kitchen, he paused silently in the doorway, watching her go about her usual, fixing a cup of tea for herself.

How many times had she fixed a pot for both of them and they had enjoyed it together while he read the newspaper or a book.

More times than he could remember.

"You needn't stand in the doorway. You're welcome in your own kitchen." Her voice had lost the hard edge, softening into the pleasant lilt he had come to treasure filling his ears.

There was a certain beauty about it that even Christine lacked.

"When will you be leaving?" He inquired, gazing at her back, covered in her dark hair, flowing well past her waist. Why did it at that moment look so perfect for him to run his fingers through? So silky…so smooth…so thick.

"Leaving? Why ever would I leave?" Relieved he had finally come to his senses about her being who she claimed to be, Candela turned to face him, her heart going out to the shattered Phantom, standing in the doorway to his kitchen, looking as if he were ready to weep.

"I'm insane. I wasted your time and nearly killed you. What is there left for you here in this hell hole?" Despite her dislike of leaving, she had to admit that the Phantom had a point. There was nothing here for her. Nothing that any logical person would ever consider reason to remain.

"You, I suppose." She said, sitting down with a cup of tea right by her. "It's not like I have anyone else that I would prefer to be with right now." A gasp from Erik shocked her.

"Not…not even your Marquis?" He whispered, staggering towards her and falling to his knees beside her.

With a soft smile and even softer eyes, she shook her head.

"Not even the Marquis." Rejecting his clear insinuation of ownership, she gave him a wide smile, met with tears from the baffled ghost. Gasping deep breaths of odd relief, he laid his masked head on her thigh and sobbed quietly.

Allowing him a few moments to weep, Candela lightly stroked his thinning black hair while a strange emotion tugged at her heart. In that moment, she had no name for it. She just never wanted it to go away. The gentle warm building inside her growing with every brush of his hands against her as he clung tightly. The rush of fondness that welled-up within her at every stroke her fingers ran through his hair.

Whatever it was could be addicting.

As a woman's mind is prone to, her thoughts drifted away from her emotions and to her earlier conversation with the Phantom. One glance at the cast list and she had understood his reaction to her referring to his darling as Carlotta. It had indeed been a miracle she survived the night. Yet, while she wouldn't condone such a thing, surely it could be forgiven.

Women forgave worse men for more every day.

When he had recovered from his emotional chaos, she would explain to him that anything further resembling abuse wouldn't be accepted so readily but now wasn't the time to press such subjects. He needed what little comfort she could provide.

For the time being, she would ignore possible reason behind his grieving over her leaving.

Returning to the present, she looked down at the yellowed skull, covered scantily in wisps of black hair, whimpering into her dress as he slowly recovered from his emotional outburst and smiled to herself.

Yes, she had an answer for the Marquis.

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I hope the feelings between Reine and Nadir doesn't appear too rushed. I figured that there is such a thing as "interested at first sight" and they basically had a date together. Besides, AREN'T THEY JUST ADORABLE? And, well, I trust ya'll enjoyed this "little" chapter. I should have another coming up pretty quick. I'm really on a roll for writing this one. More fun to come

sarahandmarquis

P.S. A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO THE GUEST WHO REALIZED THERE HAD BEEN AN ERROR! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW SO I COULD REUPLOAD IT! I really appreciate your assistance! I rarely look back at my uploads so I do rely on my viewers to let me know.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

"A letter for Madame Christine, Monsieur." The footman laid the envelope down on the Comte's desk. "From Paris."

"Thank you." He frowned, picking up the letter. Since when did his wife have communications with people in Paris? She had made it very clear, repeatedly so, that she had no contacts left in that awful city. As he skimmed over the various marking on the back of the letter, the name confused him.

Who from Paris didn't know he had married Christine?

Besides, what was up with that spidery handwriting?

Deciding the only one who held the answers to his many questions, Raoul left his study, letter clutched tightly on in one hand, and hurried towards the sun room where he found his lovely bride, napping in the sun.

Pausing for a moment, he watched the light beams play across her relaxed face, rosy with health. Their choice of holiday locations had proven a wise one. The locals had informed them that they hadn't ever seen a warmer winter or lovelier weather just before Christmas. Nothing could have been better for Christine.

"Darling." He called her name quietly as he approached her chair and knelt beside her sleeping face. "Darling." Leaning forward a little, he brushed his lips against her forehead and lightly stroked her cheek, pulling away to be met with contented blue eyes.

"Raoul…" Her sleepy voice greeted him kindly as she slowly stretched beneath the blankets. "What is it? Is something wrong?" She asked, peering at the letter he held in his hand. "Who's that from?"

"I don't know, Christine. There is no sender. And it's addressed to you, under your maiden name." Blond eyebrows knitted together as she plucked the paper from his hand and skimmed over handwriting, her hands beginning to shake.

"No…" She whispered quietly before ripping open the letter and skimming through the contents. "No…No!" She exclaimed before dropping the letter. "No! He's dead!"

"What is it, Christine?" Raoul demanded as he scooped up the paper and read the red inked words. "Him." He snarled, crumpling the letter in his hands and tossing aside the message. "Don't fret, Christine. I won't let him hurt you. I'll send the police after him and we'll stay here in safety." He leaned forward to kiss her only to have her turn away, in shock.

"No! You mustn't do that! Don't send the police after him, I beg you!" Large tears rolled down her cheeks. "Give me the letter." Confused by his wife's insane response, he picked up the crumbled paper and smoothed it out, handing it to her.

She read through once more and continued to cry.

"We must get ready to go to Paris."

"No!" Raoul nearly shouted. "We won't go back to the city! Especially not with him alive."

"No, Raoul, you don't understand, he promised. He promised he wouldn't pursue me. He loves me but he promises to avoid me. Don't you see, we'll be safe. And, I'll get to sing." Raoul shook his head and gripped his wife's hands firmly within his own.

"No, you can't do that. I don't trust him. He tried to kill me and nearly forced you to marry him. You can't trust the promises of a madman. Besides, it isn't proper for a Comtesse to sing on stage. Even if she has been an Opera Diva." The frightened excitement that had risen in Christine's face fell away.

"I…can't sing?"

Raoul shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry. You could sing for small parties. I don't want your lovely voice to go to waste. But, I'm afraid you can't go back to the stage." Hot tears continued to course down her cheeks before she sniffed, attempting to calm herself.

"I understand. But, please, let me go back. I need to tell him to his face. Please, Raoul…he's alive and I want to tell him how I feel. We parted so badly." The blond girl looked down at her hands, resting quietly in her husbands with the letter tucked between her fingers. A simple gold ring with a heart-cut diamond shining from the center.

"Christine!"

"Please, listen to me, my love. I am yours, heart, soul and body. But, he was so good to me when I was young. And, I hurt him so much. I don't want our last words to be those spoken that night. I want to ask his forgiveness. Please, will you allow me to put my heart to rest? This will close off that portion of our lives. We can move on, never fearing!" Tightening her grip on his hands, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his lips.

"Christine…no, this is madness. You can't go back to him. He'll take you away!"

"No! He won't. He may be mad but he keeps his promises." Reaching out, she took her husband's face in his hands. "For me…please. Allow me this peace." Tears dried on her pale skin, leaving a salt residue that burned her. Yet, she ignored it, her eyes begging for relieve from her misery. "Please…" She whispered one last time, leaning in to give him a loving kiss.

Emotions played across Raoul's face as he debated his loving bride's pleas. Surely, she wasn't well. Surely, she couldn't be serious. One glance at her eyes and his heart sunk. She was. she sincerely meant to return, to speak with the madman, and to return to him whole.

"Don't, Christine. Please don't. I love you and I want you to be safe."

"I will be. We can't ever be free unless I speak with him. Raoul, let me do this for us." Hanging his head, Raoul sighed and kissed her hands.

"I shall gather our things for a Christmas trip to Paris. I'm sure that Jules won't object to our dropping by. It shouldn't take us more than two days by train."

"Oh, thank you, Raoul!"

 **E-OC**

"Where are you going so early?" Erik demanded as he watched her packing her red dress and mask. "You weren't due to the party until eight." Candela flittered around her room before turning to him, a pair of red groves hanging from one hand.

"I know but Reine wants me there early to help her set up. She says the servants never do it just as she wants it." Pulling back her hair with the silver comb, she smiled quietly at him. "I hope you don't mind?" She inquired, stepping closer and pulling on her gloves.

"Not at all. I'm sure you'll enjoy your afternoon and evening." Flashing a grimace, the closest thing to a smile he could muster, from beneath the mask, he turned on his heel and headed towards his bedroom, his violin and organ alluringly calling his name.

After gathering everything she needed for her afternoon, she headed towards the door but paused, biting her lip, and turned back to his bedroom. Hanging back in the doorway for a moment, she spoke up at last, interrupting his somber playing.

"Why don't you go up to the Opera House? You haven't visited recently and who knows what your managers have done in your absence. I won't have you moping about the house while I'm gone." Boldly entering the room, she stole the violin and bow from his hands and grabbed one gloved appendage in both of hers. "Come on. We'll go up together."

Before Erik could fuss, she dragged him into the parlor and plopped his fedora on his head and tossed his cloak about his shoulders before clasping it beneath his chin.

"I am not moping!" He exclaimed but didn't fight her nimble hands. The little spark that blossomed on his skin at every brush of her fingers wasn't unpleasant. Confusing but not unpleasant.

"Yes, you are. Allow me to recount three reasons. One," she lightly bopped his masked cheek once the cloak had been secured and opened the door, "the depressing music all morning. Two," she led the temporarily docile Phantom towards the boat and passed him the pole, "you barely spoke this morning, preferring to look at your tea rather than bid me a good morning. And, three," she hopped into the boat and waited for him to pole her across, "your denying that you are proves it beyond a doubt. Now, will you take me across or must a lady do it herself?"

"Why should I? You've given me three reasons why I shouldn't." He might have laughed had she not looked completely endearing sitting within the boat, virtually demanding him to serve her. Her position as his housekeeper failed to matter anymore.

Especially when she looked so beautiful.

"You're a gentleman." She responded. "And, I am a lady in need."

He wasn't fooled for a moment that she couldn't pole herself.

"And, I am at your service." Her giggle caused an odd heart palpation and Erik choose to ignore it for that reason. The unexplainable was best left as such.

Sweeping a low bow, he stepped into the boat and sank the pole into the black water, driving smoothly them across the glass lake. By the light of the lantern, hung from the prow, Candela watched his muscles flex beneath the elegant suit. Schooling her face into a nonchalant expression, she allowed herself a moment to admire his strength, concealed by his apparent emaciation.

Passingly, she wondered if the Marquis was as sinewy.

 _Not that it really matters anymore._

"Candela, is there something amiss about my person?" Erik questioned as the boat rocked against the opposite shore. His odd maid had developed a peculiar look about her face and her eyes seemed locked to him.

"No!" Candela quickly exclaimed, giving him a brief smile and hoping her face hadn't betrayed her. "I was thinking."

"Pleasant thoughts, I hope?" He asked as she disembarked and he tied the boat and grabbed the lantern.

"Quite pleasant." She remarked, choosing to look him straight in the eye to avoid his thinking he had been the object. "Now, escort me to the surface." Unable to keep the chipper attitude hidden, she locked her arm around Erik's, surprised at her boldness, and began to walk forward, half dragging the Phantom behind her.

"May I ask what has you in a such a fine mood?" Erik inquired as he lengthened his stride to match hers. Over the past several weeks since the Operetta, his maid had demonstrated a lightening of her step, a heightened sense of sarcasm and fun, all in all, she appeared far more like the lady he had first known when he awoke that first day.

Something had happened that night that had changed but he was too afraid to inquire. Better for it to be left alone and she remain as she was.

"Oh, tonight I intend to take my future by the reins and make it listen to me. I shall tell you all about it when I come back." After bestowing a quick wink to him, she skipped ahead, leading Erik behind her, still as puzzled over her happiness.

What could she be talking about?

"Erik shall not receive a hint from you right now?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' and laughed. "You shall learn tonight. If all goes well." For the briefest of moments, her eyes clouded with concern, worry tugged at the lines of her face, before her happy smile returned full force.

Content with her answer, Erik led her through the last of the cellars and into the Opera House itself, showing her down the elegant halls and to a little door that led out of the massive edifice. Paused between light and darkness, Candela turned to face the Phantom.

"Remember, I want you to stay in the Opera House proper. Don't go down into the cellars until your spirits are up." After lightly patting his hand, the maid disappeared into the trickles of people and joined the flow of people in the larger street.

Once she disappeared into throngs humming in the main street, Erik pondered her admonishment before he nodded to himself and disappeared into the finery of the Opera House.

Surely a thorough inspection of the Opera House couldn't hurt?

Besides, his salary was due.

 **E-OC**

"Raoul! It is a delight to have you back." The Marquis bounded from his bench and embraced the young man, giving him a fatherly smile before turning to the blond on his arm. "Madame Christine, it is a pleasure to see you looking so well. I trust your health has returned?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I feel better than ever. Apparently, a holiday at the ocean can do wonders." The Marquis lightly kissed her proffered hand and snapped his fingers for the coachman to gather the few bags.

"I trust the both you intend to remain through the New Year? Reine will be happy to meet the both of you." Raoul chuckled.

"I thought I had met your cousin." He stated as the two men walked towards the coach, a quiet Christine walking at Raoul's side, her mind filled with many thoughts that rendered her dumb. As they talked about the cousin and the party that evening, Christine allowed her mind to remember the place she would visit that afternoon.

Nearly a year and a half had passed and what had changed? The Opera House still stood. The Opera Ghost stilled haunted it. And, she still feared him. While to Raoul, she had been bold, declaring that Erik wouldn't take her back, that he would keep his promises. Yet, in her mind, she still worried.

Would the madman obey his own rules?

Settling next to Raoul in the coach, she looked between the men and wondered if her husband had cared to inform the Marquis of their destination. She knew if she didn't do it now, she never would. The letter tucked inside her bosom drove her towards the Opera, drove her towards her mad teacher.

"Raoul." She whispered quietly, calling his awareness towards her. Both gentleman faced the quiet girl and gave her their full attention. Blushing demurely, she asked, "Are we dropping by the Opera House before we go home?"

Raoul's eyes knitted together in puzzlement.

"Why? I thought you might like some rest and to enjoy the party before we dealt with that nasty business."

"No. if I don't do it now, I'll never have the courage. Please, it won't take me more than an hour. Could you perhaps come back for me? I shall have enough time to prepare for the party." Straightening her shoulders, she rallied herself and waited for the gentlemen to come to their conclusions. While the Marquis appeared confused, Raoul gave in.

"Of course we can take you to the Opera. But, I insist on at least remaining in the building. I will not leave you there."

"May I at least have privacy during our meeting?" Though trepidation was written plainly across his handsome face, Raoul finally nodded.

"Yes, you may have privacy. I shall be within shouting distance though." Not that he truly considered that any sort of consolation to himself. That Phantom could steal her away without a sound and none be the wiser.

"Thank you, Raoul." Her eyes watered slightly in appreciation as Raoul shared with the Marquis a look promising to explain everything once they were alone. After the change of direction had been given the driver, the coach rolled along through the more bustling streets of Paris, not something that Christine decided she had missed.

Truly, even with the snow covering much of the filth, there was little to appeal to her about this city.

The carriage stopped at the curb and all three stepped out onto the icy sidewalks. Wrapping her arm around Raoul's, the trio hurried up the slippery steps and into the Opera House. As soon as the doors closed behind her, she immediately glided away from her husband's side and wended her way through the halls of her youth, directly to the diva's abandoned dressing room.

Once inside the blank space, she stole a quick glance about. Nothing remained in the dressing room that reminded her of those lessons given. Only the mirror stood, frowning at her while reflecting her pale image back into her face.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and opened her mouth, letting her soul drift into the realm of song once more. She knew if the Phantom could hear her, he would come. Her teacher wouldn't fail to seek his former pupil, especially after asking her to return.

Sitting within his Box Five, Erik heard his songbird singing for him to come to her.

And he came.

 **E-OC**

She looked more radiant then she ever had before.

Her blond hair shown with health and her blue eyes glowed like the flashy ring sitting on her finger. Marriage appeared to become her, the bound hair not his preferred style for her but beautiful nonetheless. A certain brilliance glowed about her, unhidden by the proper matronly dress.

For several moments, he lingered behind the mirror, silent and watching of his former pupil. The way her eyes skittered about her surroundings revealed she had lost that feeling when he was present.

She no longer recognized the shift in air.

"Angel? Can you hear me?" She called out, louder than he would have preferred. Speaking up quickly, he hushed her,

"Christine. I am here. Do be more quiet. Please. It wouldn't do to give either of us away." The quivering woman silenced immediately, clasping her hands behind her back before speaking quietly,

"Angel, you're here. You heard me." A pretty, if saddened smile adorned her lips and promptly confused Erik, not to mention her appearance in her old dressing room. Hadn't he made it perfectly clear he would have nothing to do with her? She would sing for his Opera House but he wouldn't speak to her. If her voice needed honing, surely there were some vocal teachers about Paris who could do a fine job. Enough to return her to her former glory.

"Of course, my dear. I always do. But, pray tell me why you are here? Erik promised he would stay away. You are not helping him keep his word. If you need lessons, I am sure you can find a suitable teacher somewhere in the city."

She trembled and shifted in her fine shoes, apparently uncomfortable.

"Angel, I can't sing."

For the longest moment, Erik believed his ears had simply given out on him.

"You what?" He asked, once his mouth had recovered enough to allow out more than a quiet babble of surprised words. She had to sing! She had to!

"I can't sing for you. It isn't proper. Not at all. I am a married woman, married to a Comte. The shame that would come upon me if I were to be seen on stage…it would rival that of my performances before my marriage. Surely, you must understand." Quaking in her shoes, she reached out pleading hands to silver mirror.

His mind still caught in her not being able to sing, a problem he had no foreseen, he barely heard her excuse for her rejection. But, what he did hear, unfortunately, made sense. Christine was a proper lady now. How could he have been so daft as to think that she could return to his stage once more.

"I suppose I do understand, Christine. I hadn't thought of that. Thank you for coming back and telling me. I appreciate your kindness. Good day." He stepped back, prepared to depart that instant when she cried out quite unexpectedly,

"Wait! Don't go. Not yet. I wanted to speak with you about more things that just your generous offer. I…I wanted…" She trailed off and suddenly found the buckles and lacings of her shoes to be most fascinating.

"What did you want?" The blond girl fidgeted about, playing with her fingers before blurting out,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything last spring. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I was awful. Please, I beg you to forgive me. I thought I would die of guilt when I thought you were dead." Tears welled up in crystal blue eyes and were matched by a few in speckled gold orbs. His tongue refused to speak, forgiveness not an easy thing.

She had nearly killed him.

If it hadn't been for his spitfire Spaniard, he would have rotted within his coffin.

"Christine…" He trailed off for a moment, watching her begin to fall apart before him. Oddly enough, this didn't cause him to react as violently as he always had before. Where had his weakness for his darling tears gone?

"I understand if you don't want to. I mean…I very nearly killed you. How did you survive?" She inquired, pulling herself together for his sake, he assumed.

"A girl saved me." He replied, casting his mind back through the memories. "She is an odd sort, fiery and headstrong. Spanish by decent. She tumbled into my realm and decided not to leave. I didn't have the strength to remove her and when I did, I didn't want to."

Christine swallowed jealousy the moment it tried to surface. A year and a half ago she had made her choice. She had chosen the safer man, the man she loved, leaving behind the man she feared and cared for in equal amounts. If another girl had taken her place, perhaps it was for the better.

Raoul's mind would be at ease.

"I am happy for you, Angel. You deserve some happiness in life. I am glad you have found love." Her eyes glimmered. Yes, the new girl in Erik's life had to be good. His very voice spoke volumes of his opinion of her. Such softness had been once reserved for her.

Surely, he must love her when he speaks so sweetly?

"No!" Erik quickly back-peddled, shocked at her smile and best wishes. "We are not in love! She does not love me and I do not love her. She is merely my housekeeper." Despite being completely hidden behind the mirror, he covered his blush with his hands.

Confused, Christine decided to press for more information regarding the girl. Perhaps with more, she could properly determine if her angel was merely being blind once more.

"Tell me more about her. I should like to know a little about who has lived with the surly Phantom for so long." _She must possess a great deal of emotional strength to withstand Erik's tempers and moods swings._ Christine smiled quietly to herself before drawing over a crate, sitting in the corner, to before the mirror and perched herself there.

"She's…" Erik trailed off for a moment as he wracked his brain for answers. "She's like no one I've ever met before. She's strong, emotionally and physically. She loves to relentlessly tease me. She is a Spaniard in every sense of the word."

"She is nothing like me." Christine found herself oddly pleased with the entirety of his comments on this strange woman living down under the Opera. At least her angel hadn't fallen into the age-old trap of choosing a girl who is just like his lost love. This one apparently had fortitude.

"Nothing like you." He whispered, his lovely voice drifting through the walls and surrounding her. How she wished that she could have spoken directly to his face, discerned his feelings through the set of his eyes or tilt of his mouth.

His answers left no doubt in her mind.

Erik loved this girl.

"Erik," she whispered, choosing a less familiar way of addressing her teacher. If another girl was to be a part of his life, she must cease to use such nicknames. "Why do you say you do not love her?" Any moment, she knew he could run, disappear into the depth of the Opera House, never for her to see him again. Yet, she couldn't let this go.

She had found happiness.

It was time for her angel to as well.

"I love you." Erik gasped out, letting the words break out in a rush, unpleasantly surprised at the pain lodging in his throat after their release. "I swore to love you until the day I died, whether you were in my arms or in those of another. I can't recant now."

Fresh tears dripped down Christine's cheeks and she quickly brushed them away with her hand, forgetting her handkerchief once more.

"Erik, you must remove me from you heart. I'm happy. Raoul…Raoul and I are happy. You must find happiness yourself. Stop loving me. I hear in your voice, in the words you use to describe this lady who I doubt I shall ever meet that you love her. Stop loving me and let yourself feel again."

Rising from her seat on the crate, she took a few steps towards the mirror and pressed her right hand to the glass. Those were bold words spoken from a shy girl but she merely spoke her heart. Propriety was optional around Erik.

Hadn't he seen her in the worst possible scenarios?

Erik gasped several times, unable to process her requests. To stop loving Christine felt as if to stop breathing. To admit to loving Candela would open a myriad of wounds. She couldn't love him and would marry the Marquis the moment he asked it of her.

When he did not speak again for several moments, Christine grew panicked, worried he had left her.

"Erik! Erik! Where are you? You didn't leave?"

"I'm…here." He whispered, feeling as if his throat were being strangled.

"Oh! Good." Relief filled her voice as she laid her head against the cold mirror. "Please, listen to me. I beg you. Stop loving me."

"How?" He whispered, laying his hand against hers, separated only by the thin glass. He could feel her warmth through the divider.

"Choose not to. I do not know this girl but she sounds perfect for you. You always needed someone more than me. I couldn't have made you a good wife. I cry to often. See?" She brushed at an escaping tear. "Please, at least consider what I have said."

"I…I will consider it." He whispered, nodding even though she couldn't see him.

"Oh! Thank you." She gasped with satisfaction. "I'm afraid I must go. Raoul will be wondering where I have gotten off to." She lifted herself off the mirror and turned to go to the door when Erik's voice stopped her,

"I forgive you only if you forgive me." She paused for a moment before smiling.

"Of course I forgive you." Once more, she headed for the door but stopped again, on impulse, turning to face him once more. "I want to name him after you." She covered her flat stomach with a hand. "I haven't told Raoul yet but I hoped you wouldn't mind a namesake."

"I wouldn't mind." Erik choked out.

"Good." Giving him one last smile, she fluttered away, returning to her husband and leaving Erik with many thoughts to ponder.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

"What do you think?" Candela asked as she turned around in a circle, balancing her hands on her red and gold clothed waist. "I saw the color and thought it would be perfect for a Christmas Eve masquerade." Brushing her fingers over the red satin base skirt, she plucked a dark hair from the material.

"Oh! It's beautiful! However, did you have time to commission it?" Reine circled her friend for a moment, inspecting the different layers of the dress while Candela laughed.

"There is this seamstress who is able to work wonders. I told her what I need and how quickly and she made it within two weeks, fitting and all."

"My goodness. This one took nearly a month. I must get in contact with that seamstress." Reine giggled and smoothed the green satin skirt of her dress. "Jules won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

"I suppose he will know who I am despite this." She remarked as she picked up the red mask and fiddled with some of the fake berries. Her happiness of the morning had been slowly waning as the evening approached. It had seemed to easy earlier. Simple words, simply told and everything would be over.

Cold feet hadn't crossed her mind.

"Are you all right? You don't look well. Is something wrong?" The Spaniard shook her head slowly.

"I'm fine. Just thinking." Reine's eyes turned older as she locked eyes with her through the mirror.

"I know what the Marquis is going to ask you tonight. And, he told me you know as well. It's a big step in life. But, you'll be happy. Jules is a good man and he does love you."

"I don't want to break his heart." She whispered. After eight months of acquaintance, she had grown fond of the Marquis, appreciating his kindness to her. While she refused to ruin her joy in life for him, she hoped she had the tact to leave his heart unscathed.

Reine's smile faded as she realized the implication of her friend's words. Ever since her arrival, she had led herself to believe they would be happy together. Had something gone wrong between them? Deciding against pressing her for any more information, Reine allowed the subject to drop and shifted to another, more agreeable point of conversation.

"Why don't we go down to the parlor? Jules should be home soon with Raoul and Christine." Her kindly smile had meant to distract Candela and herself but her friend's gasp of shock and widening eyes proved she had erred.

"The Comte and Comtesse are visiting?" She demanded, panic locking around her heart in a vice grip. While understandable that the Marquis wouldn't recognize her after only visiting the mansion several times and never noticing the help. But, Raoul had been her employer for a short time and lived at the mansion with her, around her every day.

He would know her in a moment.

Even Christine might see her face and remember.

"Oh! I forgot! They would know you! And, Raoul, dear boy that he is, won't hesitate to name you." Candela's bone-chilling panic swept quickly to her friend who paced back and forth several times before spying the mask, gripped in Candela's trembling hands. "Put that on!" She insisted.

"But, why? Wouldn't it be improper to greet him with a mask? And, might he recognize me anyway through the nearly full-face covering? He knows me well."

"We don't have much a choice now do we? With a mask, you have a chance to being concealed, without, you'll be identified in a moment. Now, put it on." She pressed her friend's hands for a moment, before holding her hair down so the ties wouldn't catch. "You can say that it's a game. Blame the masquerade or even some wine we might partake of before their arrival for your little game. I will put on my mask too and demand that we not remove them until midnight. You can leave before midnight…or, maybe afterwards you won't need it."

A sad smile tugged at her face before she nodded.

"No, I suppose it won't matter." Adjusting the dyed red plaster, she smirked from beneath it. "We'll manage well enough with this disguise I suppose. Perhaps his eyes won't see beyond this contraption. Let's go downstairs."

Once Reine had slipped into her mask, one a great deal smaller than hers, they glided from the dressing rooms and down the stairs to the still quiet drawing room.

After several moments of silence, Reine inquired,

"Is Nadir going to be able to come?" Her blue eyes peered deep into the fire, grateful for the mask to keep her warm cheeks hidden.

"I don't know. I asked him but he said he wouldn't know until today. I had hoped it wouldn't make much difference?"

"Oh! It's not a problem at all. There is more than enough for everyone. I do hope he will be here." Ducking her head, Reine curled her arms around her, recalling jade eyes in the back of her mind.

"I understand you two have been meeting every week for lunch?" Eyebrows arched beneath red plaster Candela leaned forward to warm her gloved hands.

"How did you know?" A blush stained the Duchess's cheeks but the green mask hid most of the rising color. Her heart skittered in her chest as her fingers sought purchase in the green satin dress.

"When I invited him, I noticed your umbrella was sitting his hallway and asked why it would be there. He told me you had forgotten it after your last lunch date. I've never seen a man blush quite so deeply upon a secret being discovered. Why didn't you tell me you were seeing him?" Scolding her playfully, Candela reached over and grabbed one of the Duchess's hand in hers.

While a relationship between them hadn't been her first thought, the situation made sense to her. Each were grieving the loss of a mate, one twenty years gone and the other not yet ten. Both had no ties to life and no one to please. Not to mention, Nadir's laidback personality would easily meld with her fiery one.

It appeared a perfect match that would happen.

"It didn't cross my mind…before. We're not a relationship, if that's what you want to know." Candela's hopes dropped. "We're just playing at friends right now. He's a very nice gentleman and has even met William. The boy took to him in a moment."

"I'm not surprised. I've always thought he would be good with children."

"Yes, they were quite a pair together, chattering about what they could with my son's broken French." Her blue eyes turned downward, apparently reliving the sweet memories. "Very few men I've met have wanted a son that wouldn't carry their name or title. Nadir doesn't seem to mind." Another blush brightened her and caused an increased fluttering in her chest.

"He has many great qualities. And, may I confess something?" Reine turned pleading eyes towards her friend. Desperate as she was for someone to admit the truth to, she had prepared herself to admit it to anyone.

"Of course, Reine."

"Over these three or four outings we've had together, I've…I've grown fond of him. Not as friend. I've only been attracted to one man in my life, my late husband. I knew the moment I saw him we would never part, and he felt the same. Rare and almost shameful between those of royal blood." Hesitating, she bit her lip and shook herself. "That spark returned when I saw him. But, he hasn't shown a bit of interest in that way."

"Of course, he wouldn't. You're a duchess." Candela reminded her, thinking back over her knowledge of Nadir's habits. "He wouldn't dream of treading further than you would allow. Even if he felt something, he would keep it hidden, giving deference to any suitors of noble blood you might have." At this statement, Reine opened her mouth to say something only to be hushed by her younger friend. "No, listen. He is aware you are a forward thinker and befriending the lower class is quite radical. But, romance with you…he wouldn't dream of it."

"You mean, I'll have to pursue himself…myself?" A nod and the idea lodged itself firmly into the Duchess's mind. "A masquerade ball is perfect…" she trailed off and shot to her feet, sorting through the pages of music for the musicians. "Does he know the Schottische?" Her blue eyes glowed and matched the dark look in her friends.

"If he doesn't, he'll learn quickly."

"He'd better."

 **E-OC**

"It is good to be back." Raoul declared as he helped his cold bride from the coach, throwing the corner of his cape around her shoulders to break the snowy wind from her as he ushered her inside. With the Marquis on their heels, he guided the girl into the drawing room, pleased to see a roaring fire within.

Taking her coat, he shed his own cloak and disappearing back into the hallway to dispose of them before returning to warm himself. Chatter reached his head and moments later, two masked women darted into the room, giggles escaping them.

"I told you we should have stayed here! We would have been able to meet them!" The woman in red paused her laughter long enough to scold. Studying the two women for a moment, he tried to determine which of them was the lady of the house. Having only met the lady once, he hadn't the slightest idea.

"Good morning, ladies." He said, bowing to both as he locked onto the red mask. From what he had heard from Jules, the Duchess had a rebellious spirit and the mask fit that disposition neatly. Besides, there was something familiar about her. "Duchess, it's a pleasure to meet you at last." Grasping her hand in his, he made to kiss it but a hapless giggle met his ears.

"No, I am not the duchess." She withdrew her hand and took a step behind Reine. "This is the duchess."

"Oh! Forgive me, Mademoiselle." Turning to address the Duchess, he remarked. "I didn't recognize you with the masks. Why are you two wearing them? Surely it is uncomfortable to wear them for so long."

"It's a little game, my dear Comte. You won't get to see us until midnight. Now, hurry up and get dress with your masks. We can be incognito to even our own guests. Hurry now! We'll talk later!" The Comte laughed and whisked away his wife to their old rooms to dress before something hit him.

After bestowing a light kiss on his cousin's cheek and the hand of his lady, the Marquis also left the drawing room. as soon as everyone had left, Candela gasped a deep breath and collapsed into a chair.

"It worked. He hasn't recognized me."

"We are fortunate." Reine replied, settling down beside her. "A year has passed since he last saw you and, as you were once a servant, he isn't likely to know your name or voice so with your face covered, nothing should be found out."

The pair shared a laugh before picking up their glasses of champagne and clinking them together.

 **E-OC**

"Thank you, Darius. Will you hand me my mask?" Adjusting his cravat, Nadir frowned at the reflection in the mirror.

"Not excited for the party tonight, sir?" Darius inquired as he passed the simple black mask to his employer.

"You know I've never been a gregarious person by nature." He remarked, adjusting the mask on his face before tying the black ribbons behind his head, careful not to tangle any of his graying hair inside the knot.

"Yes, I remember your distinct dislike for the Shah's drunk orgies." The two men shared a chuckle before Darius continued, "But, perhaps you will enjoy this party. After all, this is dignified masquerade, held by a friend of yours. If I am not much mistaken, you will enjoy the company of the Duchess."

"Yes, I will that." Nadir remarked with a smile, thinking back over their frequent lunch dates together. "She will make it well worth the trouble."

"Enjoy yourself. Dance at least once with the Duchess." His servant admonished and handed him in gloves and hat, heading towards the door to fetch his overcoat. Following behind him, Nadir secured the hat and gloves on himself and, upon arriving at the door, allowed Darius to help him into his coat.

"I will try." He promised, giving a kindly smile to his servant before walking out to the door to his hired carriage. Settling inside, he took several deep breaths and listened to the rattle of the wheels against the cobblestones before they shifted into paved streets, nearing the elegant part of the city where the mansion stood.

The moon hung large over the gables of the several-story house, shining silver light over the line of black broughams unloading their colorful passengers. Refusing to be ashamed of his simple black suit, he waited his turn before entering the grand house. contrary to Candela's promise, the party proved large, people flowing from one room to another, filling them all with clamoring chatter.

"Shall I take your coat, sir?" Inquired the harried footman.

"Yes, thank you." Nadir gave the poor man a kindly smile before shedding the heavy garment and disappearing into the throng of people to find the hostess.

 **E-OC**

"Do you think he will come? Or, has he come already and I didn't recognize him?" Reine asked, perched on a stool by the punch table, Candela sitting beside her.

"No, we'll both know him the moment he appears." After sipping a little on her punch, she set the glass down. "Remember, you're going to dance him out of his mind."

"What if he doesn't feel the same?" Reine asked, finding herself in territory she hadn't ever encountered before. A struggled existed between years of being told that a man should always pursue a woman to having her friend inform her she would have to do the chasing herself.

Quickly she found forward-thinking far easier than forward-doing.

"Nadir is a master at hiding his emotions, perhaps too many years of living in Persia taught him that. But, I am willing to bet he has been a lonely man for the past twenty years. To my knowledge, he has no other friends but you, me, his servant, and my surly employer. Your attention will be welcomed, I am sure." Reined laughed, patting her friend's shoulders.

"I shall believe you are right and pursue him until I drop. He must be perfectly lonely with just those you named, excepting you of course." Candela answered with a laugh of her own as she took another sip of her punch, feeling the liquor begin to go to her head.

"I am a very recent addition. Before, he merely had my employer and his servant!"

"The poor man!" The pair leaned their masked heads together and giggled.

"Who is the 'poor man'?" A highly recognizable voice inquired from behind a plain black mask and simple black suit. The women jumped apart, gasping in surprise before Candela giggled once more.

"Nadir, don't do that to us." Lightly swatting his arm, she set her punch down once more. "We were wondering if you were coming tonight."

"I'm here, aren't I?" He gave her a smile before turning to the Duchess. "Reine, I presume?"

"Correct, Nadir. You have found me out behind this mask I wear."

"Not too difficult. I know your voice and few women here have such a fine head of red hair."

"Now you're just complementing me." The Duchess sniffed before taking his hand in hers.

"I assume you don't object?" Nadir pried, his jade eyes locked onto hers. A saucy smile danced beneath the mask when she shook her head.

"Not at all."

"Excellent. And, if Candela doesn't mind, may I be so bold as to claim at least one spot on your dance card, should it not already be full?" Darius had insisted he dance at least once with her and he couldn't imagine a better time than the present to do so. The Redowa played behind them in the ballroom and she did look so fetching, smiling up at him, blue eyes gleaming.

Besides, it happened to be one of the few Victorian dances he had bothered to learn upon his arrival.

"I do not mind at all." A confident grin adorned her face as she finished her glass of punch. "Feel free to steal her away." Leaning forward, she whispered a bit of encouragement Nadir couldn't understand, before floating away into the swirling crowd.

Left with a waiting lady, expectant to be draw onto the floor, he bowed and offered her his hand.

"My lady?" Grasping his hand, Reine allowed herself to be swept onto the dance floor, relaxing comfortably in his arms, the set twirling among others locked in embraces.

 **E-OC**

Colors danced about her, mostly of the Yule themed reds, golds, and greens, smattered with a few blues or silvers worn by those daring enough to break a few social norms while behind masks. Among several formal couples, elderly no doubt, were several younger Parisians trying to sweep those of the opposite gender off their feet.

Hushed whispers and animated conversations all drifted past her ears, drowned out by her seeking somewhere away from the heat. Despite the cold air drifting in through a few cracked windows, so many people packed into the small rooms left them stuffy.

At last, she found a small balcony, free of people and with a stiff breeze to clear her lungs. The snow had slackened and only a few flakes drifted through the night sky, each shining beautifully in the full moon. Locking her hands behind her dress, she closed her eyes, allowing the cold to seep into her and clear her mind.

At first, she had been nervous, not wishing to break a man's heart with her inability to made up her mind.

"Eight months." She whispered to herself. "Eight months wasted."

"What has been wasted?" A gentle voice answered, causing her to turn to face the Marquis, handsome as ever in a black suit trimmed in red with a matching red mask.

"I was just muttering to myself."

"A bad habit, my dear." He remarked as he joined her at the edge of the balcony. "How are you not frozen? The wind is exceptionally chilly!" Candela chuckled and rubbed her bare fingers.

"I needed fresh air. I'm not used to these sorts of parties."

"Of course, I understand. But, perhaps you will learn to enjoy them? After all, I had hoped you might host them for me one day." He took one hand and lightly kissed the icy skin.

"Jules…" She trailed off. "I…"

"Hush." He whispered, taking both of her hands in his warmer ones. "Candela, I have known you for eight months. Eight wonderful months. You fascinated me from the very start, so different and beautiful compared to the other women of my acquaintance." He dropped a hand to brush her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

"I'm in love with you, Candela, and –" He sank to one knee, still grasping her left hand, "I would be honored if you would be my wife."

Her bottom lip trembled as she stared down at him, his eyes hopeful and anxious, pouring his love and heart before her.

And she would have to crush it.

Oddly enough, it didn't hurt in the same place or as badly as the thought of abandoning the Phantom. Once more, her heart reminded her that she didn't love him. For her, there would be no life with him. Merely existence.

"Jules, I am so sorry. My answer is no."

What little pieces of his face she could see drained of their color as pure desperation and despondency filled his eyes. Gripping her hand firming within his own and remaining on his knees, he demanded through the lump that choked his throat,

"Why?"

Candela pulled her hand from his and wrapped them around herself, hoping to warm her arms and fingers with her body heat.

"Can we go somewhere private inside? It's getting cold out here and I would prefer not to be distracted while I explain." The Marquis stiffly nodded and rose to his feet, not caring to brush off the snow from his knees.

"Follow me to my study."

 **E-OC**

"You are a fine dancer!" Reine gasped as the spirited dance ended and they bowed to each other. "Where did a Persian such as you ever learn?"

"I took it upon myself to learn a few of your Parisian customs. Unfortunately, until now, they haven't mattered much."

"I am pleased you bothered. If you hadn't, I would be denied a fine partner. Surely, this shan't be our last dance together?" Her eye pleaded up at him and he momentarily wondered if she had consumed too much champagne for her own good before his arrival at the party.

"If you wish to continue with me, I would be honored. But, surely, your friends won't wish for me to monopolize you? And, besides, isn't it improper for a lady to dance with only one man?"

"Friends – I have none here anymore. Too many years away in England has deteriorated those which I had. I never had a chance to return to visit, even during holidays. So, you and Candela are the only ones I care to spent much time with. And, I believe she occupied by the Marquis. So, unless you wish to be rid of me, we shall have to dance another and amuse each other." Lightly squeezing his hands, she giggled. "And, I do not much care for what they might think. Dancing with you and receiving censure is far better than a partner I despise."

Nadir chuckled before kissing her hand.

"I would be delighted to amuse so find a lady as yourself. Shall we go to the punch bowl for some refreshment before the next dance?" Reine opened her mouth to agree before she heard the beginning notes of the Schottische. Her eyes darkened for a moment before she shook her head.

"No, perhaps after this one?"

"The Schottische? I am afraid I only have a basic knowledge of the steps."

"Then you will learn quickly!" Drawing him towards the dance floor where other gathered, Reine threw him the most pleading of expressions.

And, who was he to deny a lady her desire?

 **E-OC**

"Please sit down." The Marquis offered as he pulled a padded chair near his desk. "And, please tell me what has led you to reject me. Have I done something to displease you? Is there something I can repair to make you accept me?"

Shaking her head, Candela settled into the chair and removed her mask, setting the gaudy thing on the dark wood.

"No, you've done nothing but be wonderful. If anything, it is myself. I've tried, I swear I've tried to love you. I care very much for you but friendship is all I create. When you alluded to proposing several weeks ago, I had some time to think and…I couldn't do it. I couldn't." Knowing her words made little sense, she raised her eyes to his hopeless face, revealed when he removed his own mask.

"There is nothing I could do to convince you to love me, even a little? Just enough to marry me?"

Once more she shook her head.

"No. I do not love you." The words were so final, so complete. Everything shattered between them. His eyes squeezed shut and his head hung, deep breaths and a choked back sob reaching her ears. "I'm sorry. I couldn't love you."

"I understand." He whispered, muscles twitching in his jaw as he resumed the mantle of a gentleman, proper and kind even his heart had broken underneath his layers of clothing. "I understand. You can lead a heart to love but you can't make it fall."

"Those are wise words."

"Reine told me those twenty years ago. She was a wise little thing, even then." Candela nodded once more, feeling the awkward tension building in the air between them.

"I should go. I will bid your cousin good evening and return home." Rising to her feet, she grasped her mask in her hands, stepping away from the desk. Now didn't appear to be the right time to admit everything to the Marquis.

They were over.

He needn't ever know.

"Thank you for being kind to me. You were a good friend." Turning, she began to walk towards the door when a familiar face and form filled the doorway.

"Hey, Jules, you should come see this…" The Comte trailed off as he stared down at the unmasked woman. "Candela!?"

 **E-OC**

What was she trying to do?

His familiarity with the Schottische was minimal but, even with that basic knowledge, he was confident that her fiery eyes, peering continually into his and refusing to break gaze during the first few minutes weren't normal.

Something weighed on her mind. Perhaps she had ingested too much liquor for the evening? She couldn't mean what those eyes seemed to tell him.

Holding her fingers softly in his, he marveled how her body fluidly moved, matching his gestures and daring him to higher excellence. Her red hair flowed free over her shoulders, tumbling down across his hands whenever they happened to across near her neck.

Her chest rose and fell with the exertion and shamefully attracted his eyes.

She couldn't be serious.

His Reine was a wise woman. Her movements were calculated and pointed. And he was no fool.

As the dance whirled to an end, a smile curled across her lips while a frown creased his warn face. His reaction hadn't been the one Reine desired at all. He seemed more displeased than pleased. Had she shamed herself without realizing it? The dance itself wasn't particularly wild but the locking of eyes could make it easily so.

"Shall we go out and get some air?" She whispered, hoping that perhaps either he would forget her exposition or inform her that her actions hadn't ruined any friendship between them.

"Of course, we can." He bowed, allowed to her deference to find a spot where the presence of others wouldn't disturb. Her feet proved quick as she guided them among the people and out onto a balcony, the house blocking the wind and snow so they were allowed some peace to admire the moon.

"It is a lovely night." He remarked, struggling with small talk after her actions in the ballroom. It wasn't possible that she could be interested in him? She had known him for less than a month and his station alone should had turned her away.

She was a Duchess after all.

"Don't bother with pleasantries. Tell me what you think." Choosing to swallow her fear and put on a strong front, Reine addressed the root of the issue. "Tell me the truth."

"I don't know what to think, Reine." Nadir replied, looking at her through kindly jade eyes. Too many years without a woman in his life had dulled his understanding of their minds. "I'm nothing in particular. I'm a retired police officer living off a pension from the Persian government and the small earning of a minor spice merchant. Forgive me for being confused why a Duchess would express interest."

"You're a kind man." Reine replied, leaning on the railing and looking a story downward where the snow lay undisturbed. "You have no vises and are always a gentleman. You're honest. My son loves you. And, most of all, I feel something here." Pressing her hand to her chest, she continued, not caring if admitting affection for a man who might not care for her back was highly improper.

She had gone this far, why not go all the way?

"When I met my husband, I felt a spark, a jolt in my chest that never left. For us, it was love at first sight. We danced and we both knew. When I first met you, I felt something here again, something that I thought I had buried back in England. It's not love yet but I fear it may become." She wouldn't apologize, not for feeling. Not for letting her heart recover from so painful a break.

"I…I still don't know what to think. I…I…never allowed myself to even consider you as an option. You were always just a friend. I thought for sure you would at least have others with a better future. I am a simple man with little to commend myself to so fine a lady."

"You are quite enough. I have lived the fine life and have experienced all the joys that life can offer. I think I should prefer something simpler." Shedding her mask in the protection of the solitude, she closed her eyes. "I know I am being bold and most unladylike but Candela recommended that I take the first steps as you would never consider it."

"She was right. I never would have. But…now…" He trailed off for a moment before slipping off his own mask and taking a step closer to her, enjoying how she reached his own height, slip of a woman though she was. "Now, I think I could consider it with joy."

It was a leap for him, a drastic leap. Twenty years had passed since the passing of his late wife. Twenty years he had denied himself the touch of a woman because of faithfulness to his dead wife. Yet, surely, Rookheeya could forgive him for this.

He wanted to live.

"Reine," he began by taking her hands firmly in his. "Neither of us love each other yet but, we both know it is possible, correct?" The redhead nodded, her cheeks glowing from the cold. "Would you…would you allow me the pleasure of courting you until such a time as we decide?" A happy smile curled across her lips before she nodded.

"Yes."

 **E-OC**

"Monsieur Comte." Candela dropped a curtsy before the confused nobleman as he looked between her and the broken Marquis.

"What are you doing here! And, why are you in that dress? Don't me, Jules, _this_ is your lady? The one you spoke of and for the past several months, _raved_ about in your letters? This girl is nothing but a servant! I was her employer!" Closing her eyes, Candela took a deep breath and listened to the Marquis begin to defend her.

"Stop." She whispered, pausing the escalating battle between the two men. "Just stop." Turning to face the rightfully stunned Marquis, she said,

"He is right. You needn't defend me. I am a servant." The words struck him in the gut, turning his face white and denying his lungs air as he sank into his chair.

"Your uncle…" He trailed off, staring at her as if she were a fiend of hell.

"…is a fake. He is the friend of my current employer. You demanded to meet my 'uncle' for permission to court me. So, I gave you one." Belatedly, Candela realized how dreadfully cruel her words were sounding but she didn't stop. "You wanted a middle-class woman, able to transition into your world with some ease. So, I gave you one. You wanted a certain story. So, I gave you one."

"You lied." He whispered, his emotions a wreck for the second time that evening.

"This has turned into quite a disaster." Candela whispered to herself before resuming her seat, ignoring the fuming Comte still standing in the doorway. "Shall I explain to both of you my reasons for doing this?" Twin nods greeted her, one furious and the other confused.

"My name is Candela Valentina de la Vega." How many times had she reiterated her story to different people? How many times had she told different versions? Well, it had all come to an end. She told the exact truth, leaving nothing out until she had reached the moment she had been released from the Comte's service.

"The Comte and no one else but Nadir knows this but when I left, I was hired on by…" She hesitated, tempted to become vague. _No, I must tell the exact truth._ "The Phantom of the Opera. I have been in his employ for a year and a half, as butler, housekeeper and maid, being sure he is well fed and taken care of."

"This is why you couldn't marry me, isn't it? You feared telling me this, didn't you?" In his completely overwhelmed brain, he nearly laughed. "I forgive you! We can marry!" Hopelessness and despair warred in his eyes as he reached for her hands.

"No, we can't. I don't love you. I won't do that to you." Oddly enough, he seemed to pay little attention to her employer, not seeming to currently care much for the Phantom's presence in her life while, on the other hand, the Comte appeared livid.

"You tried to weasel your way into our lives! Not happy with the life you were dealt? You're a servant. You need to remain in your place."

"Think outside the box, Comte." Candela hissed, glaring at his noble annoyance. "If I had cared to, I could be a Marquesse. But, I don't want to anymore."

"What, fallen in love with the Phantom, have we?" Raoul sneered, sending tremors down the maid's spine, not from his inflections but from the words themselves. It couldn't be…could it?

"Whatever I feel is none of your concern. You've too much to drink." Bodily grabbing him by his arm, she pushed him from the room and closed the door, preferring the peace and quiet once he had left. Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing both her and the Marquis some time to work through everything.

Breaking things between them would prove more difficult than she had imagined.

"I don't know what to think." He whispered, apparently running her history through his head once more, as if trying to determine if it also were just a grand lie.

"Then, don't think. Just believe. I'm sorry. I never meant for you to know." His eyes drifted to meet hers and his hysteria had coiled inside him once more, leaving a calm exterior covering an odd sort of madness.

"I understand."

"I would have told you before we wed. That way you could break the engagement if you didn't want me anymore."

"Why did you tell me in the first place?"

"I should have. Lies never pay. They've only served to hurt you, something I never meant to happen. I shall go now."

"No! Wait." He called out to her. Rising from his seat behind the desk, he stepped over to her. "Wait. You said, in your story, that your mother's name was Valentina de la Vega and your birthplace Isla, Spain?"

She nodded.

"I know who your father is." He whispered, reaching forward to hold her shoulders.

"Who?" Her voice turned breathy, the question of her life about to be answered by his next words. Her heart pounding in her ears, her breath caught and froze as he replied,

"Philippe Georges Marie, Comte de Chagny."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Philippe Georges Marie, Comte de Chagny.

His name rang through the brain repeatedly as time stood still around her. The empty shadow that had always served as her father took on a shape, a perfectly defined shape.

"How?" She gasped out, groping about her for a moment as she tumbled into a chair. While she had always known that her father had been a nobleman, she had never imagined one so close to her.

"Twenty years ago, Philippe and I were traveling through Spain on a world trip, enjoying our resent wealth and freedom. We passed through the Isla and met your mother." Candela stared at him, desperate to hear every word from the man before her, head bowed and seemingly lost in his memories.

"I am not ashamed to say I loved her and would have happily married her. But, I was a plain sort of gentleman and Philippe was a charmer. I am not surprised she fell for him. I know he didn't give her his real name, probably explaining why she never told you. We left after a month, their relationship lasting no more than a few weeks, and he never knew he left her with a child." He sighed and glanced towards her. "He would have at least cared for her had he known. He might have hidden you but he wouldn't have abandoned you."

Shock had settled into the maid as she sat in her seat, hands clasp in her lap. Honestly, she didn't know what to think.

"Did he take me in because I looked like my mother?" She asked, peering up at the Marquis who, at that moment, appeared far older than his forty years.

"It is possible, but I can't be sure. You have almost no resemblance to him. Except perhaps for the nose. You do have the de Chagny nose." Candela instantly covered her face with a hand and ducked her head. Should she be proud of that fact? Should she be proud of her noble blood? It wouldn't change her life at all. She would return to beneath the Opera House and continue her position as maid.

"Thank you." Rising to her feet, she fiddled with her mask before tying it back onto her face. "I really should be going." _I need time._ She thought to herself as she headed towards the door.

"Wait!" He called out for the second time that evening. "You're just leaving?"

"I don't see why not." She paused and turned to face him. "This news is welcome and I am glad to know that I have a name for my father but it won't affect my life at all."

"Why not?" Jules narrowed his eyes in confusion and reached a hand towards her. "You are the true heiress to the de Chagny fortune! Don't you want to claim it?" Pursing her lips for a moment in thought, Candela shook her head.

"No, I don't. The Comte and Christine deserve it. I won't take it away from them. What need have I of money? I earn a delightful little sum, working for Senor Erik. I don't need to take from my uncle and aunt."

"Senor Erik? Oh, you did mention you work at the Opera House?" Apparently, in his state of shock and surprise, he hadn't heard her clearly when she spoke of her employment with the Opera Ghost. Perhaps it was a good thing. He wouldn't have to worry about her.

"Yes, I do. He's the behind the scene's manager of the Opera House. I serve as his maid. He pays me well. Jules, I want you to forget me." He began to shake his head when she held up her hand. "Forget. I could never have married you, especially not after this." It felt inappropriate to marry a man who had loved her mother. The feeling didn't set well with her. "I want you to find a girl of decent breeding with a fine pedigree who loves you as much as you loved her. I shall be perfectly happy."

"Can't we at least stay in contact?" He begged, leaning forward and trying to grasp her hands in his. She pulled them away and shook her head.

"No. It is best we break all contact. I shall remain friends with Reine but I'm afraid we must never see each other again. How else will you forget me?"

"I don't want to forget you."

"You must." With final parting words, she breezed from the room, leaving him standing in the middle of it, dejected. "You will recover quickly enough, I can imagine." She whispered to herself as she escaped through the swirling group of partiers, in search of Nadir.

After some little searching, she found him and Reine, deep in conversation on something drowned out by the music and chatter about them. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched two people she cared for very much forging a bond.

"Apparently, the music did the trick." She murmured to herself before flitting towards the doors, intent on leaving the party. After gathering her things from the footman, she walked out into the cold of the night, turning towards the Opera House before stopping on the sidewalk.

As she looked up, she noted the snow had nearly stopped and the moon was shining brightly through the clouds.

"I suppose I should visit." She whispered, tugging her cloak tighter around her. "Yes, I will." Turning towards the street, she called out loudly, "Cab!" A hansom pulled to a stop next to her and she hopped inside,

"Père Lachaise Cemetery. As quickly as you can, please."

 **E-OC**

How many months had it been since he had touched morphine?

He wasn't sure anymore as he turned the syringe over in his head, admiring the liquid in the glass tube. Liquid pleasure at his fingertips. When Christine had left him, he hadn't cared if his addiction killed him. The sudden detoxification almost had.

Then she had arrived. Stubborn, determined to save his life.

A little ball of fire that had burned her way into his life and remained there, keeping him warm and alive. Her spirit, her vitality had spilled over to him, leaving him without a need for the drug.

But, that had changed.

She was a courted lady. The Marquis was a fine man who would marry her as soon as he could. He loved her and would make sure she wanted for nothing. Despite her declaration of preference, he knew she would leave. She had a sensible head on her shoulders.

Erik loved her and would let her go.

Christine was smart! Oh, she was smart! He hadn't allowed himself to even think it until she had said it so bluntly. How could he not love her? Candela was so sweet, so kind to him. His hands hadn't scarred due to her kind treatment.

She'd let him cry on her lap. She had stroked his hair, what little there was, and treated him with such gentleness. His little Spanish fireball.

Setting the syringe aside, he picked up his violin and began to softly play. He would hide it. He wouldn't show that he loved her. She need never know that a monster wanted nothing more than for her to never leave him. It would be so simple.

The Marquis would be proposing soon.

Firing her wouldn't do any harm, not to her at least.

She would leave.

He would die.

Simple.

Smiling, he relaxed into the music. Yes, the simple answer was always the best.

 **E-OC**

The mausoleum stood against the moon, dark and foreboding. A small covered porch had been built into the granite structure, providing a place for those who wished to sit and contemplate the dead, or the living. Stepping up the step, she paused before the doors and read the name over them.

"de Chagny." On the door posts the names of the members of the mausoleum were carved, the bottom of the list bearing the name of her father.

"Philippe Georges Marie, Comte de Chagny." Sitting down on a little bench, she laid her head against the cold stone, grateful for the break in the wind. "You never knew I existed, did you? I wonder how it might have been different if you had. I wonder if my mother might not have died. You could have paid for a good doctor."

Running her fingers over the etched letters, she frowned.

"I can't say I hate you. I should, but I don't. You took care of me, in a way. I appreciate the job you gave me. If it weren't for you, I'd have never met the Phantom." Curling her feet against her, she smoothed the satin over her knees and chuckled quietly. "He's completely insane, but, then again I am too. I stay with him willingly and turn down a perfectly good offer of marriage because I can't stomach the thought of it."

Closing her eyes, she brought both their faces to her mind, comparing the two.

"I can't leave him." She whispered. "I can't ever leave him." The wind whispered around her, changing direction and fluttering her dress. "What do you think…father?" She asked, unsure if she could refer to the dead man as such. It seemed so…improper.

The wind blew about her and she shivered, trembling in the cold.

The dead didn't answer the questions of the living and her mind reminded her of the fact repeatedly as she listened to the howling wind and the stone of the mausoleum.

"Of course, I know you're not going to talk. If you did, I'd know I was mad as Madre always told me I was. Perhaps worse…" Once more she laughed to herself. "After all, a year and a half beneath an Opera House with a man who thinks he's a ghost can mess with one's psyche.

"You probably wouldn't like him." She remarked casually. "He isn't your sort of person. You were always about money and women. He loves music…music and Christine de Chagny. I suppose I can't blame him for liking my…aunt? After all, she is pretty and her voice is nice enough but, what is there in her mind?

"The Comte loves her dearly, I'm sure you knew that, but what is there to love about her other than those looks? She's as flighty and empty-headed. What is the draw that she holds over men?" Candela fiddled with her dress before frowning deeply.

"Why does it matter to me?" The thought provoking question took away her casual air about the whole matter and replaced with insecurity.

Why did it matter to her?

Why did it matter if Christine still held a draw over the Phantom? Why did it matter so much?

"You've got be jesting, mind." Candela declared, looking upward at the sky. "Please tell me you are." The wind merely whistled around her.

"I can't be in love with him!" The wind kept howling and Candela dropped her head into her hands.

"I can't! It would never work. Not even a little. I'm a friend, if that. And, he's my employer. It would be terribly improper." Unsure of how to fix the quandary she found herself in, she tugged her cloak closer and stepped away from the mausoleum, determining to return later.

Talking to the dead appeared to be helpful.

Hailing another cab for herself, she ordered the driver to take her home to the Opera House.

 **E-OC**

As her boat scraped on the gravel shore, she hopped out and moored it securely against a post. Soft piano music floated from the house down to the dark beach and left a smile dancing on her face. The door clicked open and she breezed into the living room, smiling at the dark man moving with the music he played.

"Good evening, Senor." He lowered the bow from the strings and turned to face her. She saw tension building in his tight shoulders.

"Ah, you're home early. The party wasn't to your liking?" He inquired, setting the violin aside on the cover of the piano.

"It was nice enough but I didn't see any reason to stay any longer." How would she confess to him whose daughter she was? She knew this man had inadvertently murdered her father, not something she held against him, but she also knew how much he hated that family.

How would he react to knowing his maid was a de Chagny?

"Erik is sorry to hear that." He remarked, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor.

"Did you find the meal I prepared?" Candela asked, setting aside her gloves, cloak and mask, before moving over to the fire and warming her hands. Until she had hit the warmth of the underground home, she hadn't realized how deep the cold had seeped.

"Yes, it was very good. Thank you." He shifted from one foot to another. Biting her tongue, Candela continued to warm herself.

"Candela…um…Erik wishes to speak with you for a moment. If that is not inconvenient?"

"Not at all." She replied, frowning at the tone of his voice. "I'll go change into something more comfortable and be right back." Rubbing her hands together one last time, she flittered off to her room and shed the red satin gown and donned a thick house coat to cover her modesty.

Before returning to the warmly lit living room, she prepared some tea, declaring to herself that talks always went better when both parties were sated with tea. As she breezed into the room, she noticed the Phantom's stiff posture as he braced himself against the mantel piece and stared into the fire.

"Tea, Senor." She announced as she set the tray down and poured two cups, one with sugar and cream and the other black. How he enduring the Russian concoction without sugar was a mystery to her.

"Thank you." He muttered as he turned towards her and absconded with the tea cup to his chair and curled himself into it as was he wont. For several minutes, only the fire disturbed the silences of the evening coupled with the occasional clicking of china.

"You wished to speak with me?" She initiated.

"Yes…" He trailed off for a moment. "Erik has been thinking, this evening, and concluded several things." He set his cup aside and frowned deeply, barely visible beneath the almost full-face mask he currently wore.

"What things?" She asked, clicking her cup against the saucer before pouring herself another cup.

"It is Erik's wish for you to find another position." The tea sloshed in the cup as she almost dropped the cup onto the fancy Persian rugs.

"Find another position?" She quickly set the cup of tea down and stared at him, incredulous. "Have I done something to displease you? Why are you releasing me?" Terror filled her. Would she be torn so quickly from the man she loved? What had she done?

"You've done nothing!" He snapped, hurling his empty tea cup against the wall. "Erik just wants you to leave. Now. Get out. Don't come back. He doesn't need or want you anymore."

"But…" She trailed off, unable to account for his sudden rejection.

"No 'buts', fool. Get out! Get out before I throw you out! You've been nothing but a nuisance to Erik from the moment you trespassed in his home. He won't endure your offending presence for another moment." His golden eyes burned fiercely, tension and power moving through his coiled body. The once calm gentleman had turned into his alias.

Bonding to her feet, Candela slammed her cup down against the tray and flicked her head over her shoulder.

"Well, if that's how you feel, I'll be glad to find another position. Enjoy life without me." She locked away the sting in her heart and glided from the room, returning to her bedroom and beginning to pack.

While muttering under her breath, she stuffed her few dresses, unmentionables, and odds and ends into a carpet bag. Dressing herself in her warmest dress, she tucked away all the jewelry and paused when she found the silver comb the Phantom had given her.

"I shouldn't keep it." She whispered and laid it on her dressing table. "It was never mine." Locking her jaw, she fought the tears that were threatening now that her anger had worn off. "I'm sure Nadir will take me in for a few days until I can find another position."

Brushing away a lone tear that dared to escape, she gathered her bags and stepped into the hall, noting the pipe organ's roar from inside the Phantom's room.

"Good luck and good riddance." She whispered, hoping her anger covered her hurt as she left his house for the last time.

 **E-OC**

The slamming door echoed through the house and he heard it even above the pipe organ, the heart-rending sound drowning every other sound.

"You're better off hating me." He whispered, turning back to his music. "So much better off."

His sobs went unheard.

 **E-OC**

"Darius, is Nadir home?" Candela asked as she gave the servant, dressed in nothing but his dressing gown, a watery smile.

"He's still at the party, Ms. Candela. Do come in though. What's going on?" THe Persian servant stepped back, allowing the girl with her carpet bag to walk into the house and shed her cloak.

"I don't know, Darius. But, the Phantom has released me from my position as his housekeeper and kicked me out of the house. Do you…do you think I might be able to stay here for the night? I don't think I can find any other place on so short a notice."

"Oh! Of course, you can. Follow me. I'll take you to the spare bedroom. I'm sure my master will be happy to let you stay here until you can find another place." Darius smiled at her and led her past the stairs to a small door and into a small, sparsely decorated room.

"I am sorry it isn't very much more than a warm bed. We don't usually have company to stay in it."

"Thinking nothing of it, Darius. I shall be comfortable." She tossed her bag onto the bed and nearly collapsed beside it. leaning down, she unlaced her shoes and massaged her feet, regretting her choice to walk all the way to Nadir's in shoes never meant for such exercise.

"Are you hungry? I can warm some soup and make some tea."

"I don't want to be an inconvenience –" Candela began but he waved her objections away.

"Not an inconvenience at all. If you wish to warm up in the parlor, I will fix you something to eat. You look pale and frozen." He disappeared from the doorway and after finding her slippers, Candela left her room and walked to the parlor, choosing the seat closest to the fire.

A little bit later, Darius entered, bearing a full tray, laden with tea, a bowl of steaming minestrone soup and plate of soup crackers.

"Here." He handed her the tray. "Eat something."

"Do you know when Nadir will be back?" She asked as she scooped some soup into the spoon and blew on it to cool it.

"No, though if I were to guess I would say well after midnight."

"And, it's only eleven." Sighing, Candela took a bite of the soup and closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the ruined evening in her mind.

"Forgive me if I am being too bold but what happened? You said something about Master Erik throwing you out?"

"Yes, he did. I went the party this evening where the Marquis proposed and I received some surprising news. I returned home and Senor Phantom wished to speak with me. I didn't think too much of it. He was tense but I never imagined it involved me. I changed out of my fancy dress so we could talk comfortably and returned to the living room with tea, ready for our discussion.

"I asked him what was wrong and he informed I was released from his services and when I questioned why, he lost his temper. I lost mine as well and we parted in a huff. I don't know what was going on. I really don't." Darius reached out and patted her shoulder.

"It'll be okay. You can stay here until your wedding with the Marquis. It'll work out."

"I'm not marrying him. I rejected him." Darius's eyes widened and he nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Forgive me jumping to conclusions. But, I was under the impression you would marry him if he had asked."

"I was prepared to until a few weeks ago when I decided I couldn't leave the Phantom. Oh, Darius, I'm in love with him and he never wants to see me again." Hanging her head, she set her soup aside, wrapping her arms about her torso.

"It'll look better in the morning." The servant declared and glanced towards the food. _She isn't going to eat anything more._ "Come on, why don't you get some sleep? We'll consider the problem in the morning. You are exhausted." Helping her to her feet, he guided the emotionally drained girl back to her bedroom and lit a fire while she changed behind a screen.

"Darius, please let Nadir know when he gets home." The exhausted Spaniard whispered from her place under the heavy covers.

"I'll be sure to." He patted her shoulder and blew out the lights, leaving the girl to rest.

 **E-OC**

Nadir unlocked the door and stepped into the entryway, hanging up his coat before he noticed the presence of a cloak hanging suspiciously.

"Candela?" He called out, curious as to the presence of the girl. Both he and Reine had wondered at the absence of her and the Marquis but the footman had assured him that she left early. What had happened to drive her here?

He prayed that Erik hadn't been an idiot over her marrying the Marquis.

"Candela?" He called once more, poking his head into the parlor and finding it empty. Frowning, he descended into the kitchen and found Darius sitting alone at the kitchen table, frowning as well and sipping a cup of tea.

"Darius, what's going on? Why is Candela's cloak here?" The Persian servant sighed and looked up at his master.

"Master Erik has been a fool again." Nadir groaned and slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Not again?" He pealed of the plain black mask and tossed it onto the table. "What has he done now?" Nadir asked he poured himself a cup of tea.

"He has released Candela from his services and instructed her never to return." Nadir dropped his head and rubbed his temples in frustration.

"That ass…" He whispered. "How is she taking it?"

"Not particularly well, I'm afraid. I put her in the spare bedroom. She was exhausted when she arrived, emotionally and physically."

"She can stay here until the marriage." Nadir determined, more than happy to help the victim of Erik's pure stupidity.

"She's not marrying the Marquis." Darius declared, a smile creasing his face. "She told me herself." Nadir arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"She's not?"

"No, and, I think she didn't really mean to say this, she told me that she is in love with Master Erik." Nadir slammed his fist against the table and muttered something unrepeatable under his breath.

"The fool! He's getting choice words from me, tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, sir?" Nadir nodded.

"Yes, tomorrow. We'll let her rest and give Erik a few hours to see the error of his ways. He'll change his mind soon enough and come dragging his ungrateful hide back to her. If he doesn't, I'll drag him back myself."

"An excellent idea, sir. If you need any assistance, I'm willing to help."

"You take care of Candela. We'll sort this mess out somehow."

.

.

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am I didn't get this up sooner. I took a little break from writing much of anything serious until now. I just needed a week off to gather my thoughts. I wasn't sure where I was going to go after the big reveal but I think I do now. And, we'll be wrapping up soon with a neat little conclusion. I don't believe in dragging endings out too much.

Please review and let me know what you think! I read every one of them!

sarahandmarquis


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom. Wish I could but I don't.

.

Chapter 21

 _Empty. Lonely. Cold._

 _Tick. Tock._

The cold tea glared at him and the shattered teacup snarled from its place near the wall. The last flickers of flame disappeared, leaving reddish coals burning in the fireplace, removing the main source of light.

Not that it really matter.

He could see in the dark after all and no one else needed the light.

No one else at all.

Cold seeped into his bones, easily entering through the thin shirt that draped about his skeletal body. moving his eyes from the flame, he glanced down at his hands and lower arms, noting the thin layer of fat that clung there precariously.

She had tried to take away the skeleton in the only way she knew how.

Three meals a day, even if he refused to eat at least one of them on principal once a weak.

 _Tick. Tock._

His traitorous stomach growled, reminding him how delicious her food had been, while his mind reminded him of her playful banter over the dinner table. Until he had started to ruin things, their relationship had been perfectly wonderful. Until he had started to feel, she had been happy.

He hadn't missed her weary eyes during the past month.

He hadn't forgotten anything.

 _Tick. Tock._

Something had drained her and it had to be him.

 _She must be so happy now._

Curling closer to himself, he balanced his boney chin on sharp knees and wrapped his arms about his legs, effectively turning himself into an angular ball.

 _Tick. Tock._

His pocket watch reminded him again of the passing time. He snatched the thing from his pocket and hurled it against a wall, blocking away the sound. As the silence once more resumed, tears trickled down his cheeks.

Time passed slowly, his face itched occasionally but he ignored the feeling, preferring to remain curled in his chair in the silence.

 _I am a monster._

 _I ruined her._

With that thought, he remembered the first time he had ever met his Spanish fireball. She had slept so peacefully in Christine's bed. So quietly. She had been resting perfectly when he had restrained her, demanding she declare her presence.

She had merely snapped at him, declaring a gentleman wouldn't restrain a lady.

It had been her only flinch. She'd never batted an eye at him.

That mad little Spaniard.

Every time he grew angry with her, she had matched his temper. His harsh words hadn't brought tears to her eyes…until now.

She'd been crying when she left his home. Did she think he hadn't noticed?

A monster he surely was but unobservant wasn't a fault of his.

He loved her, of course he would have noticed if she cried. If only he had a few of those tears to hold close to his heart. A last memory of her. What was there left to remember her by?

His mind panicked for a moment as he couldn't remember if she had dimples or not.

No, she had not.

He should have drawn her when he had the chance.

His fingers ached as he uncurled and glided into his room, grasping at pieces of paper until he found a blank one. from memory, he sketched her likeness, smiling up at him from the two-dimensional paper. Those brown eyes, lined gray in his drawing, sparkled daringly and her wild dark locks twisted about her face, cutting him to the quick.

It was better for her that she leave.

Better for her that she never experience a monster's obsession.

What had he done to Christine? Ruined her as well. Nearly killed her with his love. He knew, oh, he knew. He never spoke of it but he had known of her illness but until now hadn't connected it.

Two women he had sinned against by loving.

She was so fortunate to escape before he found himself on his knees begging for her to stay. Even if she hated him.

The drawing was pinned the wall and his pencil began again.

Best record all his memories before they faded into oblivion.

 **E-OC**

"Good morning, Candela. Did you sleep well?" Nadir turned to face her and frowned at the red eyes and weary appearance of his unexpected roommate.

"Well enough. Your bed was very nice. If it hadn't been for everything going through my brain, I might have rested peacefully." She settled into a chair and poured herself a cup of tea and added sugar before glancing at Darius, occupying himself with at the stove. "I assume, Darius, you caught him up on everything that I told you last night?"

"Yes, Candela, I did. I hope you didn't mind that?"

"Not at all. I'm glad you did. At least I won't have to repeat it. So, you see my problem. I turn down a perfectly good proposal of marriage, find out who my father is, discover I'm in love with my employer, and find myself imposing on my friend's house because he kicked me out without reason." Her dark eyes glanced around the room, a scowl plastered over her face.

"Well, we could-" Nadir began to talk before he snapped his mouth shut and turned to face her. "What did you say?"

"A good bit. Anything in particular I need to repeat?"

"I thought you said something about your father."

"I did." She replied draining her cup before filling it up again. "Apparently, the late Comte de Chagny traveled through Spain about nine months before my birth, with the Marquis, and conceived a child." She gestured to herself and grinned. "Me. I am the daughter of the Comte de Chagny."

Both men stared, unbelieving, at her.

"Yes, I'm just as surprised as you."

"This…this is wonderful!" Nadir exclaimed as his brain finally recognizing the possibilities of her parentage. "Surely you can go to the new Comte and request a small sum to support you for the rest of your life? You'll never need to work again!"

Candela sighed and accepted a dessert crepe from Darius and nibbled on the pastry.

"No. I have no proof of his being by father except for the Marquis's belief that I'm the daughter of his late love. My birth certificate has no name on it. Legally, I have no father. not to mention, I don't wish to trouble the Comte or his wife. Besides, Senor Phantom was kind enough to set me for several months. I've been saving the extra he gave me. I'll be all right."

Nadir reached across the table and squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"You may stay here for as long as you like." While he couldn't agree with her decision to turn away money, he wouldn't argue. Her choices were her own. It would make sense an independent lady wouldn't wish to depend on another. And, she had proven able to care for herself.

"Thank you. I won't trespass for too long. In fact, today I intend to go out and find an apartment and another job. Allow me to finish this crepe and I shall go."

"No, no. You won't go live in a motel. You must stay here. I won't let you go find an apartment until you've found the perfect position." He assured her and took two plates of breakfast from Darius and handed one to her.

"I can't impose…"

"You're not imposing. As long as you don't object to living with a bachelor and a widower?" He glanced up from the Persian breakfast to assure himself that it didn't cross her morals.

"I don't object."

"Very well then. You take today off. Relax, enjoy a pleasant day and perhaps get some more sleep. I intend to go speak to your former employer."

"Why? He was, is, and will be completely unreasonable."

"Do you still love him?"

"Women's hearts are known for their constancy." She replied, digging into her breakfast, barely noticing the flavor. "I shall probably love his currently undeserving self for the rest of my life. At least a little."

"I questioned your sanity when I found you lived there with him as his servant. I should question your sanity now, as you declare you love him. But, I don't." He sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I intend to find out why he would throw you out with no reason. As insane as he is, he always has a reason. Usually a bad reason but a reason nonetheless." And, he suspected what the 'bad' reason was. If anything, Erik could be predictable when it concerned women.

All three shared a chuckle between them as she finished off her plate.

"Feel free to find out. And, when you do, tell me what it is. I'm very curious to know. This is the second time I've done nothing to deserve it and lost my job." She finished her cup of tea and stood up. "I should be mad at him. I really should. But, I can't find it in me." She turned away and disappeared to her room, leaving Darius and Nadir sitting at the table together.

"Is there something I can do, sir?"

"I don't know. Right now, I'm going to get my coat and I'm going to talk to the ass that kicked her out last night. The girl is emotionally exhausted after the entirety of last night. We'll give her a morning of rest and calm before anything happens."

"What do you think caused him to release her?" Nadir paused in the doorway and turned to face Darius.

"I think he loves her."

 **E-OC**

Was it morning? Was it night? Oh, never mind. It didn't matter.

The drawing was done and she did look very pretty on parchment, not as pretty as in the flesh but one couldn't be greedy or picky.

Two-dimensional was better than nothing.

"I love you. I love you." He whispered, his voice rolling across the paper and wishing her voice would answer him. He could imagine how beautiful she would look, her dark eyes glowing and her lips curling into a smile.

Such looks weren't meant for him.

Sighing quietly, he pinned the parchment against the wall and turned away from her beauty.

"So this is what loneliness is." He whispered. "It never hurt so much when Erik didn't know what it was like to have someone."

He hung his head and wandered into the parlor and found the violin and began to quietly play.

Death sounded almost appealing.

Nadir stared, concerned, at the swaying back of the musician. Any lack of attention on Erik's part always meant something was very wrong. He'd done something, said something, seen something, or thought something that was wrong.

Settling down in a chair, far away from the soon to be surprised Phantom, Nadir called out,

"Good morning, Erik." Despite his suddenly action, Erik never dropped the violin, instead preferring to set it into case before grabbing at Nadir's neck and hissing in his face. After a momentary tensing, Nadir relaxed and scowled at gentleman hovering above him, ready to squeeze the life out of me.

"Murdering me already?" He snapped.

"Nadir, what are you doing here?" Erik gasped and pulled away, his hands shaking at his sides.

"I came to talk to you. Last night, a young woman arrived at my apartment, crying. I was not there but Darius informs me that you released her unceremoniously from your service. Why?" The Phantom's chest rattled with breath as he hung his head.

"Why? You ask Erik why." He turned away and ran a hand over his violin. "What's that saying? 'If you love something, let it go.' I let her go." Nadir sighed and rubbed his temples. _Why do I always have to be right?_ As the thoughts passed through his brain, he realized the tangled mess between the pair, both believing the other didn't love them.

And, no matter what he might think of their sanity, his conscience wouldn't allow him to let them remain apart.

"Erik, if you loved her, why didn't you tell her?" The gaunt figure spun on his heel and gasped appalled at the suggestion.

"The last time I offered a woman my love, she nearly died. How can I do that to Candela? I'm not worth her effort and kindness. She could live a life without me, a happy life. She'll be marrying the Marquis anyway so it really doesn't matter."

His fingers clinched and Nadir shook his head.

"She's not marrying the Marquis. She refused him last night." The fingers loosened immediately and a drop-jawed Phantom spun to face him.

"She….isn't marrying the Marquis?" When Nadir nodded to confirm, he shook his head violently and wrung his hands. "She must! She must! She must go back and accept him! He's a perfectly good match for her and she'll be set for life!" He paced up and down, eyes shifting about the room. "She's mad. Completely mad."

"Yes, madly in love. Now, come with me. I believe you have an apology to give." _One of these days, I should just adopt him._ Grabbing his arm, he pointed towards the door. "Come on."

"Apology to whom? And who's she in love with?" He yanked his arm from his grip and shot Nadir a nasty glare, sending uncomfortable shivers down his spine. _And, that is why I don't adopt him._

"Candela and I believe that is for her to tell you. Grab your cloak. I'll give you a full speech on how stupid and insensitive you've been later." The man before him hardly reminding him of the killer he had once seen in Persia, standing impassively over a dead body, or the Phantom, gleaming eyes and threatening notes.

This was a man in love.

"I can't go back." He whispered, hanging his head once more. "I can't. She won't want me back."

"I think if you offer a sufficient apology she might consider it."

"No, I'm not worth her time. She had better spend it on finding a new job."

"You don't want her back?" The Phantom reared away from him, insanity leaking into those golden eyes.

"Don't want her back? Are you mad? Of course, Erik wants her back. He wants nothing more. He'd shower queenly gifts on her, not asking a single thing in return. Not even a smile." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She could own the world if she would stay with him. She wouldn't have to love him." His shoulders straightened and quaked. "But, she would be unhappy and he would never want that for her."

"Do you think she'd come back if she would be unhappy?" Nadir prodded, determined to sound the depth of his thoughts on the matter.

"Yes, she would. She's a sweet girl." A flicker of a smile crossed his face before a frown locked into its old position.

"We are talking about the same girl? This is Candela, Erik, not Christine."

"What does it matter? Pity effects all females. That's probably the only reason she remained down here so long. She pitied poor Erik. Poor, pathetic Erik who dared to feel it might be friendship."

"You are pathetic right now." Holding his tongue proved difficult, but Nadir felt confident that there would be more time later to give him a thorough tongue-lashing. "But, we might be able to fix that if you'll come with me."

"No. I won't. Go away before I strangle you."

 **E-OC**

"Thank you, Darius." Candela accepted the cup of tea from the servant and sipped on it. "It's delicious. Would you hand me the paper?" Darius nodded and passed it to her before settling opposite her with his own cup of tea.

Despite a sleepless night and a sore heart, she refused to bow. A day of rest wasn't what she needed at all. A day of action would help her forget and further her life. If she was fortunate, she could save most of her nest egg.

Perhaps even invest it.

After several moments, the servant inquired,

"Anything interesting?" The Spaniard shook her head and tossed it aside after finishing perusing it thoroughly.

"Nothing at all. Several governesses position and a housekeeper, must have experience running a large household. I never wanted to watch children that weren't my own or to run a large household. I suppose I'll have to find work elsewhere than the paper."

"Perhaps you could advertise? Someone surely could use a hardworking maid. I'm sure Nadir would hire you himself if it weren't for the fact we don't have anywhere to put you other than the guest bedroom." He chuckled and moved to refill his cup when Nadir entered the parlor, scowling. Both occupants looked up at him, arching eyebrows to inquire what had ruined his mood.

"He's an idiot." Nadir muttered to himself, sitting down in a chair and pouring himself a cup of tea. "A complete, insufferable idiot."

"We knew that already." The three shared a hearty laugh.

 **E-OC**

How could she? How could she be so foolish! It could have been a perfect marriage. She, smart and beautiful, and he, kind and rich. They could have been a marriage of a century.

But no. She wasted it!

 _I let you go so you could be happy! So you wouldn't have to endure my love! You could have married him!_

He paced his room, unable to sit still. She had thrown away the best thing that could have happened to her. She could have been nobility.

"I have to change her mind." He whispered, realizing in a moment what he had to do. He had to convince her to change her mind.

He was past caring if her marriage killed him. he was past caring that he would have to beg, cajole, and possibibly threaten her. He was past caring about anything. _I will wait until nightfall and then, I will go visit her. Nadir has yet to make a lock that could keep me out._

 _I'll make her marry him!_

 **E-OC**

"I think I'll go to bed." Candela said, setting down her twenty-second cup of tea. "I really need some sleep." Her two companions nodded, acknowledging it was a need of hers.

"I agree. Get a good night's rest. We'll see you in the morning." After giving them a smile, she left the room and hurried from to the bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, she slumped against the doorjamb and for the first time in twenty-four hours considered what she thought of the Phantom of the Opera.

"I don't hate him. I suppose I never really did. After all he's done to me, I don't hate him." She chuckled to herself before entering her room and unlacing the back of her dress. As every hook gave way, she stared into the mirror, wondering at the girl peering back at her. Dark hair, dark eyes, the same girl that had looked back at her every time before but this one was far more tired.

Lines coursed under her eyes and a frown touched both sides of her mouth.

After shrugging off the dress, she pealed the shift off her body and slid on the nightgown before crawling into bed and pulling the sheets over her head. Her eyes fluttered close and she drifted into fitful dreams of a weary woman.

E-OC

The lock gave way easily between trembling fingers. Empty Paris streets hardly caused any trouble. No passersby noticed his coming as none would notice his going. His shoes lightly treaded on the carpeted floor, easily finding their way to the spare bedroom in the flat.

She looked so beautiful when she slept.

Her eyelids fluttered and he regretted having to wake her. Kneeling by her sleeping face, he lightly tapped her cheek and frowned when he received no response.

"How does one wake a lady?" He asked himself before lightly tapping her cheek again and calling her name. Her brown eyes flickered open and blearily glanced about for a moment before landing on his face and narrowing. He flinched back from her glare.

"Senor Erik." She said. "What brings you here?" Retreating from her bedside, he neared the door and stood there, hands folded in front of him.

"Nadir told me you're not marrying the Marquis." Brown eyes rolled as she waved at him to turn around. Once his back faced her, she slid from the bed and grabbed her robe, tucking it about her before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He told you right." She answered. He turned to face her.

"You must marry him." Her eyebrows knitted and she crossed her arms.

"And why is that?"

"It's good for you! You'll be nobility! You'll be wealthy and…have everything you ever wanted." Her eyes flashed painfully as she turned away from him.

"I'm not a gold-digger. I didn't court him for his money, or his position. I courted him with the hope I could love him, could have a good life with a good man as my husband. But, you know, when he asked me, I couldn't do it." She turned to face him and glared harshly. "I couldn't. The words wouldn't come and I made a choice you have since made me regret!" Her voice raised and her hot temper blazed in her eyes.

"I came home last night, expecting to have a quiet chat with my employer, tell him of the party, and then go to bed, and, today to get up and celebrate Christmas with him!" The moment the words crossed her lips, she remembered and gasped, clutching her chest. "I forgot. It's Christmas day. How could I have forgotten? Why did you drive me away?" She asked, tears filling her eyes. "Why?"

Erik's hands shook violently as he grasped at the shadows, desperate to bring the conversation back into realms he understood. Such a simple demand had escalated and departed completely from his original intent. Curse the female brain!

Curse his love of this particular female!

"I had to." He whispered, lowering his head, chest heaving.

"Why? What had I ever done to hurt you? If anything, you owe your life to me." She gathered herself and walked towards him, tender and strong all at once.

"A life I never wanted. That was a suicide attempt, you know."

"I gathered as much. It's not hard to know when a man wants to die."

"I had nothing to live for. The woman I loved had left, at my command, to marry her lover and I had nothing left. Death was a welcome friend." Her hand brushed his shoulder, an expected gesture of kindness from a woman he had wronged so terribly.

"I tried...I hoped I had died when I woke but I found instead, this Spaniard living in my darling's room, commanding me to get off her. So spirited, so bold." He looked up at her, and remembered how soft that cheek had felt under his finger when he tapped her awake. "She never cried from my temper. She never backed down from a fight. I thought I could live with her and not fall under her spell." His chin hit his head and Candela stared at him for several moments, a revelation tugging at her mind.

It couldn't be, could it? He still loved Christine, didn't he? Well, it wasn't like her heart could hurt anymore so she decided to take the plunge.

"You love me." She stated. He cried, dropping to his knees before her and clinging to the corner of her robe. Tears soaked the material. Her heart went out to the sobbing man at her feet. She sank to her knees and cradled him against her bosom, allowing him to cry as long as he needed.

"Erik's so sorry! Erik's so sorry!" He sobbed, clutching with claw hands at her robe. "Marry the Marquis! Put yourself beyond my grasp!" A quiet smile covered her lips. Even if he hadn't actually _said_ he loved her, his actions proved it enough. Exquisite happiness, dampened by his poor reaction, flooded her and she held him even closer. _I have a chance against the perfect Christine!_

"Don't you dare apologize. I love you too. And, I'm not marrying the Marquis, not now, not ever. Get that through your thick skull." She ran her fingers through his thinning hair and patted his back.

"Forgive me! Don't ever leave! I beg you, don't ever leave me! I never meant to hurt you! I only wanted to help." His body shook less with real sobs and rapidly dissolved into mere heaving. Her gentle rubbing, tangible through his suit coat, soothed him. He even closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling of comfort.

He was no man. A man didn't beg at the feet of the woman he loved like a dog. He'd be her lap dog if she asked it of him. His heart was hers to heel or smash. She knew so much that could kill him. His fingers released her robe, realizing what he had been doing in his fit of grief.

"I'm sorry." He pulled away, missing her touch the moment he left her arms but he couldn't clutch at her. She wouldn't appreciate it.

"I told you, don't apologize for that." She grabbed his hands. "Don't apologize for touching me, for…" She pleasingly blushed, "loving me. Those aren't things that need forgiveness for."

"What I must ask forgiveness for?" He demanded, leaning forward. "Tell me!"

"For firing me so unceremoniously." His head dropped. "I understand you had some sort of a muddle reason why but there was no reason for such an insult to my person."

"Forgive me for firing you and insulting you and hurting you. Please? I'll do anything!" His mind raced to think of ways to win her forgiveness, to earn that blessing. _Perhaps jewels? Or dresses? Or my own humiliation? What would please her enough?_

"Forgiven." Sweet words offered without a single bribe. His breath eased and he pressed her hands to his masked face, a few stray tears falling to her palms. As he held her hands so tenderly, his mind cast back over the words exchanged between them and landed on a set, most surprising. _She couldn't have meant them?_

"Candela…" He whispered, keeping his face hidden away in her hands to avoid seeing her face. She would revolt of course. She hadn't meant them way he thought she had. There were so many kinds of love. If friendship was all she would offer, he would take, greedy monster he was.

"What?"

"What did you mean when you said…said…" He bit his tongue and dared to continue, "that…you…love…me…too." _Will she take them back?_

"Exactly that." The brunette replied calmly, as if it were any other question she had been asked. "I love you. With all your faults, with all your failings. Do you love me?"

"How could you even ask?" He raised his golden eyes to peer into her eyes and smiled slightly. "How I could I not love you?" A broad smile covered her face as she pulled away her hands, sending a spark of terror into his chest, only for it to melt away as she embraced him, pressing her face into his shoulder.

His eyes closed and he wrapped his arms around her, too exhausted to disbelieve her. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he would doubt her. When his mind escape the comfort, she offered, he would demand proof. But, for now, he would accept.

And, when everything came crashing down the following day, when she realized who she had confessed love for in the dark of night, he would have that night to remember.

One sweet memory among all the others.

.

.

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, here's your chapter after a long wait! It just wasn't coming together so that's why it took so long for me to finish. It just wouldn't write! But, I hope my readership hasn't abandoned me after a month's absence. I hope to bring you the last few chapters fairly soon. I hoped you enjoy and drop a review if you want. I love reading them.

sarahandmarquis


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22:

He fell asleep on her shoulder.

He fell asleep.

He _fell_ asleep.

Not that she really minded him sleeping. He probably hadn't slept in several days. Her feet objected to kneeling in the same position but a little wiggling of the toes shut them up enough for her to concentrate on his masked face and quiet breathing touching the skin of her neck.

Her fingers ran through his hair, untangling every strand with great care and stroking the bald spots, lined with dark blood vessels and speckled with odd spots, with gentle kindness. He wasn't handsome. She knew that well enough despite having never seen his face. Seeing his hands, seeing the back of his head, hearing what Christine had described him as, though she didn't believe more than half of the girl's conclusions.

When every possible knot had been removed from his hair, she examined the color, displeased with the amount of silver she found shooting through the black strands. She'd never considered his age before but he had to be over forty and probably closer to sixty than she had expected.

"Don't worry. I'll love you for the years you have left." Twenty years would be the most. She'd be alone by forty. But it would be worth it to spend those years with him. If he'd have her. He'd declared love for her and it was too soon to talk marriage but she hoped he might consider it in the future.

Not too distant future either.

A month or two might be enough. They'd "lived together" for a year and a half, true as a servant/master relationship but they had often showed more as friends than anything else. It would be a great change but not as great as some.

By the time the clock chimed two, her whole body had fallen asleep but she didn't care, content to rest her head on his shoulder and doze quietly, holding him close. Just as she began to drift into a deeper sleep, he jerked away.

Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a sleepy smile. His eyes wearily peered at her.

"Aren't you going to scream now?" He asked, pulling away from her. Puzzlement crossed her face.

"Why would I scream?" She asked, reaching for his hands. He drew them away and retreated from her.

"Your words were very kind and Erik enjoyed a few moments of believing them but, he won't fault you if they were just lies." He rose to his feet, unsteady. Scowling, Candela joined him in standing, grabbing the bedpost to keep herself from toppling over due to the pins in her feet.

"They weren't lies, you adorably foolish man." She said, a giggle escaping her as she plopped onto her bed and patted the spot beside him. "Sit. We need to talk." He eyed her suspiciously and approached her, gingerly sitting beside her and keeping silent.

"Now, what are we going to do? I can't move back in with you." She stated.

"Why not!" He gasped, eyes widening behind the mask. "Why not!" His shaking hands fumbled with hers.

"Well, unless you intend to resend what you told me earlier this evening, it wouldn't be proper to live with you anymore." His head dropped and he nodded slowly, understanding what she meant. He couldn't recall the words. They were truth. He loved her dearly.

"I understand." She smiled and squeezed his hands.

"Where do you want to go with this?" She inquired, blushing faintly. The little experience she had gained with the Marquis regarding relationships weren't going to help her now. At times, she would have to lead him.

"I don't know." He glanced up at her, golden eyes glowing in the darkness of the room. "I never thought beyond…" She nodded and laid her head on his shoulder, noticing his jerk. Soothing him with a roving hand, she replied,

"I haven't thought too much either. But, I love you."

"I…" He hesitated before continuing, "I love you too." Warm as she was inside, she shivered a little due to the dying fire. Reacting immediately, he tugged a blanket off her bed and threw it around her shoulders, tucking it gently and covering every inch of skin.

"Thank you." She whispered, snuggling herself against him. His hands trembled and his heart raced. Words seemed stuck inside his throat. Her dark eyes peered up at him, watching to see if he could say what burdened his mind.

After another moment, he blurted,

"Would you marry me?" When the words escaped, he yanked himself away from her and covered his mouth, gasping in shock that he had offered. "Erik is so sorry! Forgive him!" He dropped to his knees in front of her and clutched at the blanket surrounding the surprised woman. "Don't answer." He raised his hand to her mouth, the digits hovering over her lips. "Don't. Erik shouldn't inquire. He must make himself a worthy future husband before he asks."

Candela retrained her giggling and pressed a kiss to his fingers, drawing a second gasp from him and tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Erik, it's okay. You're perfect the way you are. I don't see why you can't propose right now." Her heart thundered in her chest from excitement. He stroked her cheek, bewilderment shining from his eyes.

"You are mad. Completely mad. You can't be serious that you would marry Erik?"

"Of course, I am. I thought it would take you a lot longer to propose but this will be great." She reached forward, trailing her fingers across his porcelain mask. "We don't have forever to wait around." The muscles in his neck tightened, holding his head still while she touched it.

"You are correct. Erik is not young anymore." He sighed, weary. Silenced reigned for several minutes before he leaned his head against her hand. "Candela, do you want to know what you have agreed to marry or shall I wear the mask forever?"

Honestly shimmered in his eyes, a plead for acceptance bright in them. His question paused Candela's racing mind and held her attention for several moments.

"What do you want?" She asked. He answered with a shrug, not helping her make her choice. On one hand, she could ask him to remove the mask and, while she would always love him, show disgust. What little she knew of his face, she knew it couldn't be a pretty sight. But, on the other hand, if it never left, it would always stand between them, a porcelain barrier to trust and happiness.

"Take it off."

Hands shaking, he reached behind his head and untied the strings, his whole posture signaling preparedness for any outcome. Slowly, the strings released and the mask lowered, revealing a chalk-white forehead. Before he could show anymore, she relieved him of the duty and snatched it from his face, exposing everything.

His eyes snapped closed as she stared in horror.

Gray and yellow skin were pulled across sharp bones. A black hole gaped where a nose should have resided. Thin lips barely covered yellow teeth. White scars zipped across his cheeks. Twin tears coursed down them, distracting her from the scars.

"I disgust you." He whispered, covering his head with his hands. Violently, Candela shook her head, ripping his hands from his face and crouching down before him, leaving him with no choice but to look her in the eye.

"You don't disgust me, Erik. You never will. Abnormality doesn't always breed disgust." Taking a leap, she reached out and stroked his cheek, surprised to find the skin soft and pliable beneath her gentle fingers. "I love you, both this." She lightly touched the bit of cartilage he had, "and this." She pressed a hand to his heart. There was no going back now. No second guessing herself if she could care for a man like this for the rest of his life.

Her choice had been made earlier that night when love had been confessed between them. Surprisingly, her heart and mind didn't appear to object to her choice, calming themselves and allowing her clarity of mind to assuage his fears.

"Kiss me." She suddenly demanded, praying that would convince of her truthfulness. Besides, his lips were looking particularly delectable at the moment.

They were engaged after all so she could demand such a request.

Perhaps the evening had been so overwhelming that he chose not to disbelieve her or contradict her, but Erik curled his fingers into her hair and slowly lowered his lips to her, hesitating on the last moment to allow her a chance to change her mind, to run and never look back.

Her fingers found the nape of his neck and settled among the strands of hair. A halting breath later, she firmly pressed her lips to his.

 **E-OC**

Never again when they were together, did she allow him to wear the mask.

Three weeks later, they were married in a small service with only Nadir and Reine as witnesses. While Candela had sent an invitation to Christine and Raoul in case she wanted to wish her former Angel well and should Raoul like to confirm his wife's safety by viewing the marriage of his nemesis.

Both politely declined.

Christine had begun to face severe complications with the pregnancy and the midwife didn't want her traveling, or so came the excuse.

In reply, a wedding photo was sent, showing a grinning bride, proud as she could be of her husband, and a contented Phantom, griping his wife's white-clad waist tightly, with a note requesting that the photo be shown to the Marquis along with a letter enclosed.

The letter never reached the Marquis de Bonnaire.

The week before the wedding, he traveled to Spain to find the grave of his first and only true love. The night before, he located it and, on the happiest day of Candela's life, was found dead by a local.

No signs of suicide or murder were present on the body, leading the investigators, after hearing the story, to believe he died of a broken heart. The will, when read in court, let everything, except for a pleasant living for Reine, to Candela as recompense for her not accepting money from the estate of Phillippe de Chagny.

Per his wishes, they laid him in the family crypt and had the coffin of Candela's mother moved to beside him so they might rest together.

Those who had known him grieved for a good man, fell by the power of a woman's fickle heart. If Candela felt a twinge of guilt, she never showed it. Her mind was filled with dreams of a future and a honeymoon trip, an adventure the managers hardly appreciated.

Starless and lacking guidance, they postponed rehearsals and fumed over the Phantom's disinterest now he had a wife to pamper. Their complaining letters to him, a role reversal Candela never ceased to think funny, caused their European tour to be cut short and for them to return so he could hold auditions.

Soon, a star was located and the Phantom descended into his dark domain, determined not to surface except in the greatest of necessities, including serving as best man for Nadir when he married Reine.

Their courtship proved quick, lasting long enough for the pair to know they were in love. Youth and time weren't on their side and they knew it far too well. While her family threatened to disown her for her marrying a commoner, Reine laughed in their faces and married him anyway, sending a sarcastic note, photograph and even a slice of cake to her remaining relatives.

Years passed before contact was made again.

Seven months after Nadir's wedding, Candela gave birth to Nadene, perfect from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Her brown eyes were decidedly her mother's but the black hair and elegant bone structure, beautiful for a child, left no doubt on her father. While most of the pregnancy had consisted of Erik choosing to ignore the growing bump on his wife's stomach, he adored his daughter, spending endless time counting her fingers and toes, and lightly bopping her perfect nose to the amusement of the tiny girl.

Candela often remarked he loved her simply for that facial protrusion.

He scoffed and waved away her comment as completely false, declaring he would have loved his daughter no matter what. Always though, when his wife was out of ear shot, he would murmur a "thank you" to the heavens that he hadn't had to try.

Her first word was "Dada" quickly followed by "Mama." The Daroga took immense pleasure that her third was "Dago" which he adamantly claimed to be her attempting to say his title, despite Candela's reprimanding of the child every time she greeted him with it.

On her daughter's second birthday, Candela leaned over and whispered into her husband's ear. He glanced over at her and then hopelessly at the child playing with Daroga and Reine, bright and happy and beautiful. Finding contentment in the laughter of his perfect two-year-old, he replied,

"I could love another child."

.

.

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, the time has come to wrap this book up. I meant to continue it for several more chapters but this seemed the proper ending. I couldn't think of anything further to stretch over those chapters and I have a firm belief that a book should never be longer then the story.

sarahandmarquis

P.S. I probably won't start any new books anytime soon. I have several I'm working on (including a fanfiction on the '89 version) but I probably won't be posting them soon. I want to write some and possibly concentrate on my other books. Until next time!

P.S.S. I just reposted this because the text messed up. I have had no end of trouble with trying to post stuff lately. I am so sorry! Thank you, Child of Dreams for your help!


End file.
